Whiplash
by ontara
Summary: Less than a year left to live and Dean has to face a group of old adversaries again – monsters of the human kind that nearly killed him almost 13 years ago. Sequel to Demons I get, my very first story. Some Hurt/Dean as usual. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

_Alright...so, this is a sequel to my very first story -_ demons I get_._

_I know it wasn't the most brilliant thing I've ever written, but it kinda called for a sequel - I left the end open, in the hopes of having a real bright idea of how to end it at some point._

_Well, I can't promise you a genious thought or brilliant idea, unfortunately, I've been debating with myself if I should even start posting, because, seriously, this is just a while bunch of hurt Dean with a bit of a story wrapped around it... But I've written it - have finished the first couple of chapters already, and there's no use to let them rot on my computer forever, so I thought I'd just dish it out- maybe someone actually likes it, after all._

_Basically, I'm posting this first chapter to see if anyone's even still interested in reading in the first place - so please, if you want me to go on, let me know. _

_So, this is season 3, so of course the deal is mentioned, but I don't think I'm going to spoil much more of the rest of the season. This story is really mostly focusing on what happened to Dean back then, the torture and how he's never told Sam anything about it._

_If you haven't read_ demons I get_, I guess it would make sense if you did before reading this..._

_The short version is, that Dean, then 16 years old, had been taken hostage by a group of tennagers from his school - only humans, and tortured pretty badly. He managed to escape and eventually got to his feet again, but he never went after the kids, never told Sam what really happened to him, either._

_I hope I'll be able to tie up some of the lose ends with this sequel - like I've been asked to do by some readers for the past year since finishing the first story. I hope you're at least party satisfied with this version of a show-down..._

_Also, this first chapter hasn't been beta-ed. Again I wanted to make sure that you even want me to coninue before I go bothering some poor soul with my incoherent ramblings and bad english - because, those of you who haven't guessed it already - english is not my first language, unfortunately, but I'm doing my best to cover it up!_

_So...not sure I'm doing the right thing here, but here goes the first chapter of Whiplash - please read and let me know what you think..._

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 1**

Dean didn't like splitting up on hunts.

Hell, he'd been the one always going on and on about how important it was to stick together in the first place, so it was kind of contradictory that this time it had been him basically ordering Sam to scout out a location while he himself would take a different one, one as far away from Sam as he could find.

Or rather, find one for Sam that was as far away from the one Dean had focused on.

Sure, Sam had looked at him funny, but for once he hadn't said anything, hadn't given Dean some smart-ass lecture on contradicting his own rules or something the like. As a matter of fact, he'd taken it far too willingly, like he really couldn't get away from his big brother fast enough. Which was definitely not true, Dean knew that. He knew it because Sam was the one practically clinging to Dean's leg, never letting him out of his sight, never letting him do _anything_ by himself anymore.

Always looking at him with that crease in the middle of his forehead, too, the slightly mental eyes… Dean really was afraid that one of these days Sam would just downright start bawling on him – or worse, force-hug him or something, and that prospect did nothing to set Dean's mind at ease any.

Sam couldn't go soft on him now of all times…well, alright, it might have been a little too late for that…but he couldn't afford getting even softer than he already was. Sam needed to toughen up – Dean was trying to tell the kid that forever, but especially now…

But maybe Sam did need some time on his own for a change, just a couple of hours to unwind, to _not think_ about the deal anymore, about Dean going to hell – for Sam…

_Hell_…yeah.

Well, Dean wasn't going to go there today – neither literally nor was he going to delve into the topic, punching himself out of order in the process - he sure wasn't going to get all emo over it now of all times. He had more important things on his mind. And maybe it was best for Sam to be out of sight for a while to just think about something else but a way to save Dean from going to the pit.

But Dean had to admit that this now – this hunt, splitting up, had very little to do with making it easy on Sam. Dean knew he was a bastard for it, but just this once he had set out just for himself. Something that he couldn't share with Sam, no matter what. Something that Sam would never know about, if it was up to Dean - and if everything went as planned.

The trees were pretty dense in these parts of the woods and Dean took off his canvas-jacket, slinging it around his hips. The terrain was rough and mostly uphill from where they'd parked the Impala in the secluded parking lot of a run down picnic area. Dean had chosen to leave his car there because it was closer to where Sam would be looking into an abandoned hut somewhere deep in the woods and farther away from Dean's object of interest.

They'd found a strange string of mauling in these parts of the woods through one of the websites they used to find out about cases that were their kind of strange. All it had taken for Dean was reading the name of the town and he'd been in. Sam had been a little surprised at Dean's immediate willingness to drive all across the best part of three states to check out something that could very well be a "regular" serial killer, or even wild animal attacks, but in the end he'd barely even lifted an eyebrow and shrugged his consent.

Right now, they were back to Sam doing everything to keep Dean happy. Going along with so many hilarious things Dean suggested, it was almost pitiful. Not that he'd take advantage of the situation… But Dean knew, he just knew that it wouldn't last, that before long Sam would be back to being his old brooding and resentful self - determined to find a way to get Dean out of the deal, to put everything else aside to accomplish this one, monumental task. And Dean planned on making the best out of the time till that happened. He'd think about a way to stop or slow Sam down when the time came.

Now they were here, in the middle of nowhere/Montana, and as far as Dean could tell Sam didn't remember this town or ever being here before for that matter. Which was fine with Dean. He'd taken extra precautions to choose a different motel, trying not to drive by the school or other places Sam might have recognized - even though he was pretty sure that Sam wouldn't remember anyway.

It had been close to 13 years ago – give or take – and they'd been through about two dozen different schools after, number of motels and apartments they stayed in since close to uncountable. To Sam, most likely, it had been one town of a string of anonymous ones while growing up, so this particular one would barely stand out among them – despite everything that had happened.

Dean was ripped out of his thoughts as he stumbled, his foot catching on a root, almost sending him sprawling. He caught himself against the trunk of a tree just in time, stopping to catch his breath for a second, working hard on keeping his breathing even.

For a second there – for just a second…

No, no, there was nothing. Nothing. He was fine – needed to move on. So Dean pushed himself back to his feet and walked on.

Another 20 minutes of hiking through the damn bush later he finally came to a road. It was barely recognizable as one anymore, the years having taken off most of the tiny stones that the way had been covered with back then. Grass and all kinds of other fauna were sprouting all over the place now, obscuring the road to anyone who did not know that it had once been there.

Again, Dean stopped, took a deep breath.

_He felt himself falling, stumbling outside, losing his equilibrium. __Tiny sharp pebbles cut into the soles of his feet, suffocating dark obliterating his vision all of a sudden, the sharp pull of broken ribs crushing his chest, burning slash-marks on his bare back… _

Fuck.

_Again Dean stumbled, hitting the ground hard, his knees scraping over the stones, catching himself with his hands before face-planting._

Fuck…how was this even possible?

How…?

He blinked his eyes back into focus, taken aback by the fact that they'd been out of focus in the first place, found himself kneeling in the middle of the old road, head down between his shoulder, chin tucked against his chest. His breathing was ragged, forced, burning in lungs that seemed to be starved beyond belief.

But his hands were free - in front of him and unbound. His mouth open, his eyes too. Dean blinked rapidly a couple of times, his vision clearing as sweat that had soaked into his eyes fanned off his heavy lashes, dripping from the tip of his nose and chin. This was it – had to be it - the path that led to the hall or shack or building where he'd been…that he'd escaped from.

Blindfolded and tied up and beaten half to death. More dead than alive, as a matter of fact, according to what the doctors and his father had told him back then. And still he'd made it back. He'd fucking walked out of there and had made it back. Had taken him a while, sure, had taken almost more than he'd been able to give, but he'd made it.

By himself.

And he wasn't going to be breaking apart now, of all times.

There were worse things he was facing now – worse things than memories of something he fucked up royally many, many years ago. He had a future to worry about, or rather - eternity in hell, whatever.

So this - was not going to break him.

He wouldn't let it.

He cast a quick look around, just to make sure that nobody had witnessed his little…loss of control, then pushed himself back to his feet, ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair and over his face before starting to walk towards his right – towards the direction of the house. He squared his shoulders, put determination in his step that he really did feel – _he really did_. Because this time, he was not going to back down, was not going to be weak. This time, if it turned out to be who he thought it was, he'd not let them get away with it.

Humans or not, they deserved to be punished for what they'd done.

For what they'd done to those people that had disappeared in those woods during the past months only to be found mauled and slashed and cut open a couple of days later. Their wrists marked by what looked like the burn of ropes, their backs slashed open by an unknown weapon. The remnants of gags and blindfolds still visible their skin in places, even though it couldn't be proven, so the police had explained it away – too embarrassed to admit that they had no idea who or what had done this. Their bodies ripped to shreds by animals, destroying what little evidence had been there when being discarded like pieces of meat in the middle of the forest. Dead.

Those freaking monsters deserved to be punished for what they'd done…to all these innocent victims. And maybe even for what they'd done to Dean.

With that resolution Dean straightened up even more, reached for his gun and pulled it out from the hem of his jeans against the small of his back, the weapon weighing comfortably in his palm, calming him down immediately.

Real bullets.

He'd exchanged those with the silver ones the gun had been loaded with before, after Sam and he had split up, so the kid wouldn't see and get the idea to ask any questions. Not that silver bullets wouldn't have worked, but he really didn't want to waste those on human waste like he thought, no _knew _he'd encounter.

Ten more steps and Dean rounded a bend in the path and the beaten down structure that held some of his worst memories came into view.

He'd thought that the mere sight of it would make him nauseous, the memory of what happened there too fresh still in his mind, even after all these years, but in reality, there was nothing. Nothing like his little breakdown only a couple of minutes ago. No flicker of recognition, no breaking down or starting to sweat, his heartbeat staying perfectly normal. Normal after a hike through the forest, that was. Normal after almost spacing out from just stepping onto a fucking regular overgrown path.

Well, it wasn't as if he'd ever really _seen _the place he'd been held in…most of his memories, his nightmares reduced to the _feeling_ of things, sounds, smells – pain.

He felt better now, stronger. He could do this. End it and go back to…well, normal. Whatever the hell that meant lately. He'd end this and go spend some more time with Sam, preferably, hang out at Bobby's for a while, kill as many monsters as possible, bang as many girls as he could get his hands on. To make the most of it.

But first things first.

Dean kept to the side of the road, close to the bushes and trees walking slowly but confidently towards the beat down structure at the end of the path.

It looked…smaller than he'd expected, more dilapidated. Well, it _had _been 13 years, but still… even now, actually looking at it, he had no idea what the building had been intended for, originally. It looked almost like a warehouse in miniature form, only that it wouldn't make much sense to built something like this into the middle of the forest. Maybe it had been used for storage – that actually made the most sense to Dean right at the moment. To store what exactly didn't really matter, in the end. Right now all it held were bad memories, but it wouldn't for much longer.

There were no windows anywhere all around the building, at least not at ground level. As he rounded the structure Dean made out a string of small, narrow openings around the top of the building, about 15 feet up, right underneath the by now partially caved in roof. The glass, if there ever had been any, long since smashed out by wind and weather and probably stones thrown by teenagers making out and partying here.

Back in front, where the only entrance and exit of the building seemed to be, Dean tested the door carefully but found it unlocked, opening out towards him.

_To his immense surprise, the door actually gave in to his weight, swinging outwards and Dean tumbled with it, hitting the ground hard. He cried out, his body trembling in agony._

_At least, he was outside._

Dean basically jerked back, his hand snapping away from the door as if it had been burned.

Goddamnit. Where the hell did the flashbacks come from all of a sudden? He always thought that things like that, that physically feel-able flashbacks were something that only existed in movies, but this right now… He'd smelled it, felt it… It was a memory he didn't even know he had, certainly not one of those that had been plaguing him in his sleep for weeks and months after he'd gotten out, back to safety. Those had been even worse.

And still…

Dean shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his hold on the gun while wiping his sweating left hand on his jeans.

Don't even think about it. Just get in and get it done…

The first step in, against everything he'd have thought, didn't trigger anything. He'd been prepared, almost, for something else, another flashback, another travel back in time but there was nothing. Nothing but a fairly large room (it looked larger from the inside than from the outside) that was bare except for some beams crossing the room about 2/3rds up towards the ceiling.

Dean frowned at that, chose not to look too closely.

He knew what those had been used for without any time travel in his head, unfortunately.

_So, focus and move._

There wasn't much worth checking out inside. The room was devoid of any nooks and crannies, there were no other doors or corners to be rounded, no furniture or machinery whatsoever.

All was empty except for some ominous dark stains on the far end of the room, opposite the door he'd just entered through. But again, no recognition, just a sharp churning motion in his stomach that almost made him throw up his dinner all over said stains, add his own signature to it.

That had to be where the bodies had been…mauled. None of the victims had been found here, though, all of them found somewhere in the forest, always smack in the middle of some kind of road, a parking lot, a picnic area. All of the quite a distance away from here – ground zero – almost like Dean, after he'd made his way out of the forest, to finally break down in the middle of a road, almost getting run over by a car in the process. But he'd been saved – had been found. Just like the bodies had been found, only that there'd been no way to save them anymore.

Most of the recent vics had been bled out, some already feasted on by scavengers, so the suspicious lack of blood on the supposed crime scene hadn't really bothered the authorities, apparently. It had bothered Sam and Dean. Because they knew - or at least Dean knew, Sam only thought he did.

Sam had thought Wendigo, right from the start. Everything pointed right to it, the rope-marks, the dismemberments. Only that the last Wendigo they'd encountered had eaten the victims – head to toe – only left behind the bones. This one apparently left whole body-parts behind. What to the authorities had been wild animals ripping the bodies to shreds, Sam had seen as the wendigo eating only "special" body-parts, scorning the rest and leaving it behind. Not that that was a "normal" MO, but then again – what did they know, really. "Normal" so far off the scale in most everything they did…

Once Dean was certain that the room indeed was empty, he lowered his gun, stood there thinking. He closed his eyes, let his chin drop to his chest and just waited, breathing, smelling…hearing…

_He was sitting on the floor now, back resting against the wall he probably had been smashed against._

_It took him a few moments to clear his head, but as soon as he had, he struggled to sit up straighter, wincing as his bruised side sent jolts of pain through his body._

_His mouth was free now, and he greedily sucked in a deep breath, only to regret it again a second later when his side insistently reminded him that he should better not move too much. The kicks to his body stopped. He could hear them laughing again, voices all around him, teasing him._

_What confused him the most was the fact that even though he could now breathe more or less freely, he still couldn't see. Something was still covering his eyes, something far tighter, far more confining, sticking closely to his skin._

_He turned his head, tried to rub the thing off on his arms, panic coming back with a snap. He hated the darkness, hated confinement, feared the helplessness. His breathing came in quick, heaving gulps he was unable to control and he felt big beads of cold sweat starting to roll down his face._

_A voice suddenly came from only inches away, startling him._

"_Now, now, look who's awake…"_

Dean tore his eyes open, the room tilting dangerously around the edges of his vision and he swayed on his feet, put out an arm to steady himself.

This was new, it was definitely something new altogether. And he needed to stop it. Needed to get a grip, goddamnit. He knew how to do this, he had plenty of experience.

Just recently, he'd been pretty damn good at repressing the thought of going to hell…right? Well, maybe not entirely, 100% successful, but pretty damn close, most of the time. Deceiving Sam – and himself – that he'd always known how to handle.

Dean rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, wiping sweat out of his eyes with his left while keeping a death-grip on the gun with the right.

He looked around once more, his gaze again settling on the beams around the room, the one above the far wall. He could make out grooves in the wood if he looked real close, as if something had been fixed there, something hanging from them, something heavy. Something fighting nail and teeth to get away, scraping the wood from the beam, splintering and sawing it off. Only not quite succeeding…

_Suddenly, a strong jolt went through his body, his arms were pulled upwards, his body being hauled off the floor._

_The joints and sinews in his elbows and shoulders screamed out in protest and he instinctively struggled to pull his legs underneath his body to take the weight off his arms. The bonds were cutting deeply into his wrists and already he could feel warm blood trickling down his arms._

"Alright, _enough_ already with the flashbacks…" Dean growled, practically panting as he oriented himself in the here and now again.

He rubbed a weary hand over his face viciously, felt the day old stubble on his cheek scrape over the skin of his palm, remembering that this morning he'd simply refused to shave – for the manly look – that's what he'd told Sammy. In reality, he'd simply been too tired and grumpy after a night of too little and not at all peaceful sleep.

Which, of course, Sam probably noticed, but had chosen to ignore, at least for today. He probably thought that it was thoughts about hell plaguing him…and he might have been right about it, too. Only, for the last couple of nights it had been a completely different kind of hell that had captured and held him close like a hungry lover.

A hell that mere humans had subjected him too.

Which somehow only made it even worse.

Alright, so the room or house or shack was empty. Well, Dean hadn't exactly expected them to sit here and wait for him to come to them, now had he? Only, it would have been kinda nice, would have made things a whole lot easier. Preferably, they'd be smeared with the victims blood, their fingerprints all over the place, a new victim just about to be killed fresh but still _alive_ in their hands. A hot, female victim – no, scratch that – a hot, female, _thankful _victim. One, that would show how thankful she was for being saved, once they were out of here and back at the cabin…

Hell, yeah, like that ever happened. This wasn't a movie, unfortunately. Things never went smoothly, why should his luck start showing up now, all of a sudden?

So, all he could do, really, was wait and see. He had no idea, of course, if they'd even come back tonight, had no idea on what kind of sick schedule they operated as of late.

Back then, with him…not that he'd had any idea why exactly they'd done what they'd done, but for some reason he'd always told himself that there had to have been a reason, however sick and twisted, but surely there had to have been some kind of reason to their action. Even fucking monsters had a motivation for whatever madness they were dishing out, after all.

But, yeah, wasn't like he didn't know already…humans, unfortunately, were way below monsters and ghouls in so many more ways than one. Plus, they were protected by law. The unfairness of it all still baffled Dean, on more occasion than one, but then again…he had no right to judge… He had no right…the number of laws he himself had broken in his life so far were pretty impressive to say the least – so was he really all that much better than them?

_Yes_, yes he was. He was. He didn't torture other humans just for the kicks of it, didn't enjoy the bloodshed and violence he was forced to dish out most of the time. It was his job – he was helping people. Saving people. He was not _them._

This was just way too fucked up for Dean to contemplate, it really was.

Back then, he'd had reasons for not wanting to go after those fucking punks that had done this to him. He had pretty damn good reason, or so he'd told himself. It had made perfect sense, he'd spent hours and weeks and months to convince himself of it - and had come to believe it, in the end. Besides, it had just been him, right? They'd chosen him, and however wrong and fucked up that was, it was still not entirely…unjustified. He'd told himself over and over again that as long as they didn't go after anyone else…it was alright. Maybe not _alright_ but, you know, alright…somehow. At least it wasn't some innocent person involved.

And Dean had kept taps on them, just like he'd promised Janie he would, had made sure they didn't step out of line again. Dean also had a distinct feeling that his dad had not quite stuck to his promise of not going after the punks himself…Dean couldn't really put a finger to it, couldn't prove anything, but the way those guys had stayed so completely off the radar, in every way possible, was kinda suspicious.

Up until now, that was. Why they'd chose to wait more than a century before picking up on their old habits again, Dean didn't know – didn't _care_ to know. Maybe Dean had missed something – had gotten lazy and now look what had come of it… All he knew is that he was going to stop it, once and for all.

A sound behind him stopped his thoughts so suddenly, he basically froze. For one second, the world stopped spinning. It was nothing more then the rustle of air, a slight wisp of breath ghosting over the back of his neck, making the fine hair there rise up, fighting for standing room. Maybe it wasn't even a sound or perception of the physical kind, after all, maybe it was just the thought, the _feeling_.

But it was enough to send him into action.

Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough.

He ducked and started to spin around, bringing his gun-arm up in one swift motion but never made it all the way.

Pain suddenly exploded in his temple, washing over him in one swift, smooth motion, sending him tumbling into blackness before he ever even get a glimpse of his attacker.

tbc

_AN:_

_Alright- not sure I'm ready for it, but please let me know if I should go on or not. _

_Also, those of you who've enjoyed my previous stories and now find this weird or whatever- please don't give up on me and just wait this one out - and maybe give me another chance - pretty please??!!_

_Alright, thanks to you all for reading - and if you want to you'll hear from me again soon!_

_Take care!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Alright - works again. I couldn't upload yesterday, but here it goes now!_

_Still don't own them or much else, except for the slightly twisted plot of this story._

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 2**

Sam made his way back to the car.

The trees were less thick here, less hindering as he skidded and stumbled his way down the slope he'd painstakingly climbed up only about an hour before, cursing the lack of trees for not having anything to hold on to on his ascent. Going down was much easier. Like this, he could just pretty much skid his way down, thinking for an insane second about skidding down on his butt, creating a mud-slide of some sort.

Great, now he was the one having insane, childish thought all of a sudden? Maybe he was compensating for his brother not being there with him, was compensating in ways of _imagining_ things Dean would do or say in a situation like this…?

If he did this already after a mere two hours of being separated…

Sam set his jaw, took one last, giant step down until he was on levelled ground again, stopping for a second to catch his breath and wipe the soles of his sneakers over a root sticking out of the ground, cleaning the shoe off some of the pale brown mud sticking to them. From here on, he simply had to follow the path back to the car, a mere 30 minutes walk, if he didn't hurry. And he didn't plan on hurrying. Not at all.

Dean would probably just have reached his destination a couple of minutes ago, the location he'd chosen, no insisted on scouting out a good twice the distance than Sam's. But it was just as well. Not that Sam wanted to be separated from Dean for any longer period of time, lately, but there were some things he needed to do, take care off, without his brother being around.

Because Dean would just go all _bouncy_ on him, would do anything to distract him and steer him away from his plan of action. So, however wrong it felt as of late, sometimes Sam just needed to be by himself for an hour or two.

He checked his phone and found the reception still out, then stuffed it back into his pocket together with his hands, shoulders up as he trudged his way back towards the car. It was kind of chilly, which he hadn't really felt on his way up that hill, earlier on. But right now, going downhill and not exerting himself too much the temperature slowly was creeping up on him.

Sam trudged along the path, trying not to think too much, as had become his habit of late. He wasn't doing himself any favours wrecking his brain 24/7, Sam knew that, but it was kind of hard to do anything _but_ think, lately.

Think about the deal, about a demon collaborating with them…or with him – Sam, more to the point. Dean still refused to see the benefits of their little truce. Thinking about the next months with Dean, the years to follow that without him…

Sam tried to focus his thoughts, he really did, to the here and now, trying to mirror his brother's philosophy of life of late, he just somehow didn't seem to be able to pull it off as smoothly as Dean did. And besides, he really doubted that Dean was all that fine and peachy and awesomely great as he wanted to make Sam believe he was.

It was little things only, but Sam spent enough time with his brother to distinguish even the tiniest changes in his brother's behaviour, the slightest cracks in his armour, his demeanour. And he _knew_ that Dean was not alright, he couldn't be. Only the stupid jerk thought he couldn't let on about it because that would mean that Sam might believe that Dean regretted making the deal. Which, ironically, Sam never had any doubts about, no matter how deep his pain and fear and self-reproaches ran. Sam never had the tiniest hint of a doubt that Dean would make the same, friggin deal again within the blink of an eye – and smile while doing it.

Stupid, demented dwarf that he was.

Dean would basically serve his soul on a fucking silver platter when it came to it again.

Sam angrily kicked at a stone lying in the path, a stone he could easily have stepped over, cursed and swore loudly as the stone turned out to be heavier than anticipated, stubbing his toes painfully.

Fuck this all – sideways and all across.

And here he was again –channelling _Dean_.

Awesome.

He was going to be doing so fucking great on his own.

Sam was thankful for the almost full-moon since it saved him from having to use his flashlight – saved them the batteries, he thought, the pale light strong enough to illuminate the narrow path sufficiently. A little darkness had never bothered him, it wasn't as if he was afraid…because yeah, he knew what was lurking in the shadows. A little contradictory, maybe, but Sam thought he actually got dad's and Dean's meaning now, when giving him the cold facts about the thing hiding in his closet or underneath the bed. You didn't fear the enemy you knew. This way, he could work on how to take it out instead of worrying himself sick over being jumped by it.

So, if there indeed was a wendigo on the loose in these woods, Sam was prepared. He had a flare gun – no, two as a matter of fact, one of their self-made flame-throwers, a silver knife, an iron knife (not that he'd need it) his shotgun (because that was just standard equipment) and his gun with silver bullets. He was as prepared as he would get. Besides, Sam really wasn't all that sure that this was a wendigo's work indeed. He would have put his money on a black dog, if it wasn't for the remnants of rope marks around the victim's wrists. There was no way to explain the feeling he got, but for some reason Sam didn't think it was a wendigo at all. A gut feeling, maybe - but they'd gone on less before, so whatever.

Still, splitting up hadn't been all that smart an idea, even though it had come in convenient at the time Dean had suggested it. It just wasn't right. It wasn't as if they hadn't seen their fair share of hunts gone wrong when splitting up – wasn't like they hadn't seen their fair share of horror-movies, always making fun of the protagonists splitting up in the middle of a dark forest, a pitch-black basement. At least one of them would sure as hell end up dead in the end…

A cold shiver ran down Sam's spine and he drew his jacket closer around his torso.

Why was he thinking about this now, of all times…why hadn't he thought about this a couple of hours ago, keeping Dean close by, by his side, where he rightfully belonged?

Well, it was too late now. And nothing was going to happen…no wendigo. A gut feeling. And Sam's gut feelings had rarely proven wrong so far.

Rarely.

Still, just for the sake of it, Sam sped up his steps a little. This way at least he could wait in the Impala until Dean came back, maybe squeeze in some of his own music before Dean would deafen him with some high-tuned AC/DC again.

That and it would give him a little more time to take make that call - care of that business he's intended to do right from the start.

OoOoOoO

There was a low, buzzing sound, almost as if the air around him was electrically overloaded. Maybe Sam had left the laptop running, or the TV, the coffee-maker…pretty much any electronical piece of equipment motel rooms came with these days would do.

Usually, Dean wouldn't even have noticed. While he was a light sleeper in some situations, something as minor as this didn't usually keep him awake - or manage to wake him up.

Right now, something else was wrong though. First off, it was pretty cold in here – the cool air stinging on his chest, raising goose bumps on his skin, making his throat hurt almost with each breath he took in.

Too cold…

Almost…

Damn.

Dean tore his eyes open, almost throwing up when the sudden surge of vertigo that motion elicited sent his head on a pretty decent roller coaster ride. He had to close his eyes again, dropping his chin to his chest, just breathing through it for a second or two until he had himself under control again.

The next try went a lot smoother, if not entirely well. The moment his lids parted, he was assaulted with…darkness. Not a complete, _fuck-I'm-blindfolded-darkness_, but _in-a-dark-room-in-the-middle-of-the-night-darkness_, one that wasn't all that complete but took a while for a person to register and orient himself in upon waking up.

After a minute or two, outlines und shapes started to drive away the darkness before his eyes, faint moonlight filtering into the room through a number of small, narrow slits somewhere above his head serving to repress the unexplainable panic that had settled itself around Dean's heart like a vice.

Once he was fairly certain that the room wouldn't tip on its axis all of a sudden, Dean managed to lift his head again, blinking a couple of times to clear his vision and bring the world around him into focus again.

He recognized the room instantly.

The next thing that registered just as quickly, was that he was standing upright. Which was a bit strange, to say the least, since he'd just regained consciousness after being knocked out, right?

How the hell…

_His hands tried to grope for the rope holding him up, yearning to ease the pressure, fighting to lighten the burden, but his fingers would barely move any more, the blood flow cut from them, the burden too heavy to leave them any room to act. Surprisingly, they did seem to ease him down a bit, but only so much as to let him stand on the balls of his feet._

No, this wasn't real, it just wasn't. There was no way…

Dean surged forward, wanting to get away, to get the hell out of there.

This whole thing had been a bad idea, the worst he'd had in a long, long time – and that was saying something. He should have taken Sam with him, should have never gone here without backup. Especially since he had known…or at least strongly suspected.

Dean didn't even manage to take one step before he was roughly yanked back, his body thrown off balance for a second as his arms stayed effectively immobilized by _something_ – something stretching both limbs above his head.

He craned his head backwards, sucking in a huge lungful of air when he saw chains, snaking their way down from the beam running along the ceiling above him to wound around his wrists, pulling his arms upwards to the point where he could barely stand on his feet anymore.

Dean wrecked his brain, desperately tried to remember but drawing a blank… There had been no chains here when he'd come in here, right? There had definitely been no chains, he was 99% certain. So where had they come from? How did they manage to get them up there and him in this position without him noticing? He was sure the hit on the head hadn't been all that hard – nothing that would have knocked him out so thoroughly…

Alright, so his head hurt, just a little bit, his left temple throbbing and pounding and he could feel a bump forming right below his hairline, the pressure of swollen skin and bruised flesh prominent but not unbearable. Nothing he hadn't been through before, as a matter of fact, actually way below most hits he'd received.

"Gotta do better than this!" He rasped out, coughed, then yelled it again, louder, challenging.

He'd be damned if he showed them how damn weak he was yet again. Not this time.

"Hey…hey, you stupid assholes. Why don't you fucking show yourselves? You've tied me up already, you wimps, what the hell are you scared off? What the hell are you waiting for?"

His voice reverberated hollowly around the hall-like room, coming back to him from the naked walls around him, assaulting his ears with an eerie echo that made his voice sound even raspier than he'd thought, a lot less stable than he'd liked.

"Come on, you fuckheads, show yourselves. Let's handle this like adults, how about that…no more playing games. Why don't you fucking untie me and _fight_ me man on man, you cowards… I'll take you on, one after the other, wipe that stupid smirk off your faces…"

Yeah, that sounded more like him, not the weak, desperate pleas he remembered choking out back then. God, he'd been the worst wuss back than – so goddamn weak. But not anymore. They weren't going to win this time. This time it was time for payback.

"Bring it on, you cowards, why don't you fucking FACE me, goddamn it."

The shift in temperature was almost dramatic, Dean's skin rippling with goose-bumps, the air in front of his mouth and nose suddenly misting, clouds of smoky breaths building and taking forever to dissolve again.

For a second, Dean was left dumbstruck.

Then, suddenly, there were hands at his hips, spinning him around so quickly, he once again thought he'd throw up as his head protested the sudden movement with fierce fervour. But his eyes remained open, aware, and he found himself staring straight into the pale face of Joe.

For the past 13 years, Dean had imagined facing the man again, still a boy back then, had imagined standing in front of him, _looking_ at him without a fucking blindfold and wipe that stupid smirk off his face once and for all. He'd imagined smashing his fist into Joe's nose, imagined the noise of the bone grinding underneath his knuckles, the warm blood spilling over his fingers. He'd imagined beating Joe to the bloody pulp that they'd beaten Dean to, imagined his ribs breaking, the skin peeling off his back as he lashed him with his own belt, a whip, whatever he could get his hands on.

Dean had imagined all this and regretted it almost instantly, feeling guilty and _wrong_ for even having these thoughts. Because it wasn't right, it just wasn't. He was supposed to be better than them. That's what he'd preached to his father back then, he'd practically begged him to walk away and let them go. And still, for weeks and months and even years after he'd had dreams every once in a while, dreams of beating the holy shit out of those punks, not stopping even when they begged him to. For some reason, though, it hadn't made him feel any better.

Seeing the face before him now was like a kick in the guts, basically taking the air from his lungs, stealing his ability to form one single coherent word.

For a second or minute or hour he just stared at the man before him, still clearly recognizable, even after all these years.

Joe stared back at him with pale blue eyes, unblinking, equally unmoving.

He was smaller than Dean, a little more heavy set than him, but muscular, bulky. His hair was shorter than Dean's, even, a dirty blond that looked almost washed out, devoid of true color. His nose looked as if it had been broken once or twice before, one of his cheekbones flattened a bit, too. There was a split in his lip and below his eye that looked as if it was still fresh and open, yet again the color was missing, the red or blue tinge a bruise like that would sport if it was a new injury missing entirely.

He looked…

…like a ghost.

Like a spirit, an apparition.

Like Joe, about a decade older than during their last encounter, like life had somehow taken a turn for the worse and left him…dead, in the end.

Dean took a deep breath, trying to ignore that it was a tad shaky, then suddenly threw his body forward, towards the man in front of him. He remembered too late that he was bound and again being yanked back forcefully, with a too late suppressed grunt of pain as his bonds tore at his shoulders and wrists.

Joe didn't move. He stood there, in front of him, looking at him almost quizzically, his head tilting slightly to the side, seizing him up curiously.

While Dean's breath still fogged furiously in front of his mouth, Joe's stayed completely invisible and that was about the last confirmation Dean needed to be absolutely sure.

Joe was dead. A ghost, a spirit.

And almost as certainly as he knew that, Dean also registered that he'd been right from the start, that all those people who had died had indeed been the victim of…well, not _them_ but _him. _Joe. Joe's ghost. Haunting this place, killing innocent people. Just like he'd been trying to kill Dean all those years ago.

The realization made Dean's head swim.

All those years…all those years...

He'd kept an eye out on them, had never seen or heard anything suspicious, for years after. And while he'd never really stopped keeping his ears and eyes open, he'd somehow lost focus, after a while. The past couple of years too…demanding in other departments to worry about some jerks like that.

Apparently, Joe had somehow managed to get what he deserved, in the end. It kinda peeved Dean, that he didn't know how the fucker had met his end, when it had come, that he hadn't been a part of it, but from the look of it, it hadn't been pretty. Just what he deserved. Dean couldn't suppress the smile that spread over his lips.

"You're dead…"

Joe's head tilted to the other side, his eyes narrowing as he came a step closer.

Immediately Dean felt the cold seep even farther into him, permeating his skin, chilling him to the bone.

"You're fucking dead…you're a ghost, a freaking ghost! I can't…you stupid fuck are actually dead. God, I wish I'd been there, I wish I'd been the one smashing your brains out or whatever else happened to you. What the hell happened, huh? You picked the wrong guy? One that you didn't manage to blindfold and tie up before you started beating him up? One that you actually gave an opportunity to fight back? I can tell you one thing – you deserve it, whatever it was, I hope it was painful and I hope you didn't die right away. I hope you begged and suffered for hours. I hope…"

Joe's fist hit like a sledge hammer, straight in the guts.

Dean's sentence was cut short as the brunt of the impact drove all air out of his lungs and left him unable to draw in another breath. His knees gave out and he stumbled, his fall stopped by the chains wound around his wrists, the bonds too short to let him come to rest on his knees.

Ok, so maybe it hadn't been the smartest idea to start insulting the guy while he was still pretty much immobilized…

Before Dean even made it back to his feet again, Joe's fist hit again, catching the side of his chest now and it struck Dean how fucking strong the guy was, how insanely and inhumanly strong…

Goddamn it.

Joe was in front of him one second, driving iron hard ghostly fists into Dean's unprotected body with full force, the next he was gone, vanished only to appear behind him a second later, starting his assault on Dean's back and sides. His fists never ceased to move, never ceased to make contact, knowing exactly where to strike to inflict the most pain possible.

Dean grabbed for the chains with numb fingers, hoisting himself up to take the weight off his legs, tensing his muscles - steeling his body. He kicked out, aiming at whatever part of Joe's body he could reach - however fruitless the action proved to be. It was a fucking ghost he was fighting, a spirit. Sure, it was corporeal enough when it came to hitting Dean, but on the other hand Dean's attacks were lost in thin air, Joe's figure apparently dissolving whenever Dean's leg came even close to his body, appearing again a split second later to run amok on him again.

The guy didn't tire, either, didn't even as much as breath heavily, the ghostly sucker, and Dean really started to think that he really, really shouldn't have split up on this hunt of all the ones he could have chosen.

Dean heard himself gasp and gag, an ironic imitation of the gruesome sounds he remembered making back then, right here, but another lifetime nonetheless.

When he finally felt himself sag in his ties, felt his body go limp, his legs unable to hold him up any longer, even for the shortest of seconds, the beatings suddenly stopped. They stopped so abruptly that Dean let out a strangled gasp before he could stop himself, his legs flailing, fruitlessly searching for grip on the rough cement floor, unable to take some of the strain off his tortured shoulders and arms.

His chin had dropped to his chest, trails of saliva and blood dripping from it, soaking into the light grey fabric of his shirt.

His mind reeled, his brain unable to discern between dream and reality for a while, skipping between the past and the present, unable to come up with a reasonable stock of his current injuries.

He hurt…god did he hurt – that part was real was sure.

His chest felt crushed, his back raw and bruised, his head spinning and roaring as if a thunderstorm was blowing right through it.

He heard voices, laughter, all around him, teasing him, hands prodding and poking, fists and feet and knees everywhere. Yet when he brought his head up and his eyes open there was no one there.

No one.

Not even Joe.

For a second, he was naïve enough to feel relieved at the absence of his tormentor, realizing his mistake far too late. Because, if the ways things had been going the last time around were anything to go by, Joe wasn't going to leave it at simply jabbing him around some. Even if, for whatever reason, the asshole again would make the mistake of leaving him more or less free to move – legs untied and not shackled against the wall of this hole…Dean doubted that he was going to get out of it this easily. And easy really had never been part of the deal to begin with.

Dean shifted, groaned as the movement sent flares of pain across his ribs, and he breathed shallowly for a minute or two till the stars crowding his vision retreated again.

Ok, so, not too bad – nothing he couldn't handle. That was, if he managed to keep his head clear and his mind in the game.

Joe was gone for now, but Dean knew, with absolute certainty, that he was going to be back before long. And he had a tiny little notion as to what was going to happen once his old adversary did make a reappearance.

OoOoOoO

Tbc

_AN:_

_Alright, so first off, thanks to all you wonderful people who reviewed on the first chapter – you guys are awesome, I can't even believe my luck!_

_I know this story is not the most brilliant I've ever written – but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless._

_The next chapter is almost done, I just didn't get to read through it and make the corrections I'm sure it still needs – work is pretty stressful at the moment and steals me of some of my much needed writing time (can you BELIEVE it…?!). But writing still is one of the most relaxing things for me, so, next to taking my dog out for a walk it's going to be a steady companion for the next month which is going to be hell - workwise. So, be prepared..._

_To cut this rant short - the next chapter might be up ahead of my weekly schedule, so I hope you'll stay on the lookout for it!_

_A__s always, all mistakes are mine – this is still not beta-ed, so don't wonder about the gruesome mistakes I'm sure I missed. _

_And, even though I've gotten a little more confident about my writing – I'd still love to hear what you think about this chapter._

_Thanks y'all and take care!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Alright, I know I promised this chapter to be posted earlier, but real life somehow got the better of me - I'm sorry for that, but hope I can make up for it by making this chapter nice and long - you be the judge._

_I hope you enjoy!_

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 3**

Sam made himself comfortable in the passenger seat of the Impala, propping his feet up on the dashboard even though he knew there was going to be hell to pay if Dean caught him doing it. But Dean wasn't there now and Sam planned on savouring that fact for just a little while.

He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, wrenched a bottle of water open and gulped down half of it while speed dialling the number he'd been intending to call for hours.

Bobby picked up after the second ring.

"Hey Sam…lucky for you I'm a night-person."

Sam had to smile at Bobby's mocking gruff tone.

"Yeah…even though you really _could _use that beauty sleep…"

"You don't quit talking like that, boy, you'll be the one needing a whole lot of beauty sleep really soon." Bobby shot back, but there was the unmistakable undercurrent of a smile clothing his words and Sam didn't waste one minute being concerned that he'd taken it too far.

He dumped the bottle on the seat next to him, fumbling out a couple of pieces of paper from the glove compartment and spread them out on his lap.

"So…did you find that ritual we've been talking about?"

Sam tried to tone his voice even and not too eager but the slight tremble of his fingers betrayed him loud and clear. Of course there was no one there to witness it, so it really didn't betray him in front of anybody but himself.

The pause on the other end, even though short, shattered Sam's hopes so fast and so thoroughly, it made his head spin.

"Yeah, about that… Listen Sam, I checked it out – seemed promising enough but it dead-ended, kinda. I checked everything, talked to that friend of mine I told you about, read about a dozen books referring to the ritual, but it never worked the way we would need it to work. It wouldn't save him - would only serve to dig him in deeper, in the end…"

Sam felt the vice around his chest squeeze impossibly tighter, felt his fingers cramping involuntarily into the piece of paper he'd been holding, crumbling it up without thinking about it. He looked out the window, trying to find something, anything to look at to center himself, to not start bawling or cursing right now. Not while Bobby could still hear.

He was met with the reflexion of his own face in the glass of the window, slightly misted over but prominent enough. He had to flinch at the hard set of his jaw, the tight squint of his eyes. His chin jutted forward slightly, defiantly, as if still refusing to believe what he'd most likely known all along.

Another dead end.

One of a whole shitload of them, assembled and discarded like spitting out the seeds of a melon on a hot summers day.

It wasn't as if it was anything new, just another lead not panning out in the end, and still the disappointment cut deeper than the last time. Always deeper, each and every time another step closer to damnation.

Sam wondered how many more setbacks he would be able to take.

"Are you absolutely sure, Bobby? You double-checked, didn't miss anything?"

Sam was startled by the sound of his own voice, the hardness that had crept into it, an eerie reflection of his eyes, still staring back at him from the cool class of the Impala.

Again there was a pause on the other end of the line, then Bobby cleared his throat and answered back to him. His voice was carefully levelled and neutral, yet Sam didn't miss the slight undercurrent of impatience lingering somewhere underneath the surface.

"Yes, Sam, I double- and triple-checked. I'm no rookie, you know. Don't ya think I wanna save you brother's skin just as much as you do? Don't you think that I try to find a way out of this for him ever since I found out what that stubborn ass did…?"

Sam closed his eyes, slumping further in his seat as all the tension suddenly left his body. When he reopened them again all the hardness and coldness was gone, replaced by sheer need and desperation and _hurt_.

Of course he knew…he knew how much Bobby cared for Dean – for both of them. Sam had no right…

"Bobby…god, I'm sorry. It's just…I don't… I don't know what else to do. Every time …

I think I've found something, some way to get him out of the deal, it blows right up in my face. I don't know what to do anymore…"

His voice cracked at the last word and he didn't bother covering it up. He wasn't all that dead set on hiding his emotions from the world like Dean did.

"Yeah, Sam. Alright. It's Ok, I gotcha. Just…don't give up hope just yet, alright? We still have time – we'll figure something out. And if we really do find a way to keep him out of the pit, we'll make sure he'll never forget what we did for him, OK? This time he won't live to see another day without kissing our feet in thanks, don't you worry…"

Sam had to smile, painfully, again detecting the hint of an equally painful smile in the sound of Bobby's voice. Yet he knew that Bobby also was doubtful, more so than Sam had been at first, that there really _was_ a way out of this. Sam knew and therefore appreciated Bobby's efforts of placating him ever the more.

There was a moment of silence in which Sam could hear Bobby move around a room, apparently settling himself on a chair that creaked slightly underneath his weight. Sam was just about to speak up again to thank Bobby – say something, when Bobby spoke again.

"So, where you boys at? I might have my hands a hunt I could need some help with. 'd be nice to see you guys again."

'_To have a family reunion.' _Sam thought, and the thought actually made him smile.

He really had no clue what he, no, what _they'd _do without Bobby. Hell, they'd probably be dead ten times over by now without his help and support.

"Uhm…we're actually not all that far from you, at the moment. Dean found us this hunt in eastern Montana – I guess we could come by your place when we're done, then head out together."

"What hunt? Sam, what hunt are you talking about? Where are you guys exactly?"

The sudden tension in Bobby's voice made Sam perk up immediately.

"Uhm…a Wendigo – or so Dean…_we _think. There were a couple of maulings in the woods here, people going missing to show up a couple of days later – dead. It's a small town - Clancy. It should take us less than a day to drive over to your place after we finished up here."

Sam could practically _feel_ Bobby perking up over the phone.

"Why, Bobby – is there a problem? You got any info on this that we should know about?"

"Where's Dean?"

The curtness wasn't even concealed anymore as Bobby barked out his question.

"He…he's scouting out one of the possible lairs. I already checked out another one, found it empty – to be honest, I doubt it really is a Wendigo, so you need not worry…"

"You split up?"

"Well, yeah. Dean said…he wanted…we thought it would be a lot faster like this. It's not like we're unprepared or anything. We're big boys, Bobby, we can handle this."

Sam tried to lighten the mood a bit while at the same time knowing that it wouldn't work, not even on himself as he sat straighter in his seat, already ready to up and leave. To go after Dean.

"He talk to you about this? Did he tell you that he talked to me about this hunt already?"

"No, Bobby…why, what's wrong? Why did he talk to you about it?" The uneasy prickling sensation in the pit of Sam's stomach, there ever since they started this hunt, suddenly turned up a couple of notches.

Bobby sighed, but it was not an exasperated sigh but an actually pissed one, or so Sam thought.

"I learned about the hunt and I called him and told him _specifically _to not take it on himself. I told him that I'd send someone else to take care of it and that I didn't want to have his scrawny ass anywhere near Clancy or I'd personally make sure that he wasn't ever going to get one single spare part for his damn car from me ever again. I can't believe…you know where he is, Sam? Do you know where he went?"

By the end of Bobby's little rant, Sam was sitting ramrod-straight in his seat, hand already on his still packed duffel, weapons and first aid kit tucked safely inside.

"Listen Bobby…you're kinda freaking me out a little here. Yes, I know where he went. But I…what the hell is wrong? What's the deal with this hunt that we can't take care of it ourselves?"

Bobby grunted something that sounded suspiciously like a curse before taking a deep breath, speaking up again, his voice composed yet imploring enough.

"Listen, Sam. It's a long story, but right now I want you to go and get your brother, stay with him and keep your eyes glued to him, alright? I'll make my way over to you and then we can talk things out."

"If there's anything I need to know, Bobby, you better tell me…"

Sam was already out of the car and on his way, trotting down the path snaking away from the parking lot in the other direction that he'd gone earlier, his duffel slung over his shoulder, phone still pressed to his ear.

He only prayed that the connection would hold until he'd gotten all the information he'd need.

"I don't know…it's a long story… Listen Sam, do you remember that summer, about 13 years ago, when you boys went to stay with me?"

Sam thought he heard a car-door slam shut, then the stuttering roar of a engine as Bobby fired up his car.

"Uhm…I don't know. We stayed at your place quite a number of times…"

"As I said, 13 years ago, give or take. Dean must have been about 16. Your daddy…"

The connection stuttered then, Bobby's next words lost in a swirl of static before Sam could hear him again, a little far off and distorted, barely there anymore.

"Damn…Bobby, the connection's pretty bad, I think we won't hold it much longer. Just tell me, is there anything important…anything I need to know?"

"Sam…" then again the line stuttered and finally the dull dial tone rang in his ear, mocking Sam with it's finality.

"Damn."

One quick look told him that the connection was dead for good – not even a single bar showing on the display anymore.

Damn again.

Sam stuffed the useless piece of telecommunication into his pocket, cursing just for the sake of it before speeding up again, settling into a faster trot than he'd usually have. He knew how important it was to keep up a pace that wouldn't exhaust him before he reached his destination, but Bobby's apparent urgency and unease had him worried. Big time. And it only added to the slightly uneasy feeling he'd had about this from the start. The only reason he hadn't reacted earlier had been his preoccupation with finding a way out of the deal. To save his brother.

So, if he kept up the speed he was currently going, he should make it to the house in about an hour – it being uphill and all. Give or take.

Sam pushed on a little harder.

OoOoOoO

He was shivering.

Shivering like a goddamn leaf and he couldn't for the life of him make himself stop.

At least, Joe had left. Or rather, Joe's ghost. Whatever. Not that it mattered.

He should have been relieved that he was alone again, but for a couple of reason it didn't quite work out that way.

First, of course, there was the shivering, shaking him to the core, his muscles already cramped and knotted, rattling the damn chains and making him sound like one of those ghosts or skeletons in old horror movies, running around boo-ing and rattling their chains behind them.

A close second came the pain. A pain that was ever present, a bone deep ache, intent on sticking around for a while. It made it damn hard to concentrate on anything else. He couldn't even locate the source of it right now, didn't know if it came from the beating he'd received, the hit to the head or the way he was still tied up like a piece of slaughter-cattle waiting to be cut into pieces. His arms and shoulders hurt, his legs already buckling and folding under his ever growing weight, which made getting up harder and harder each time he tried. And he didn't want to start thinking about what was still to come if he didn't manage to find a way out before Joe came back…

Dean tried in vain to find a position he'd be able to bear a little easier, at least for a little while. Just until he'd gotten his senses back, just until… yeah, until what, exactly? He'd be damned if he had the slightest notion of how to get out of here, let alone walk back to safety.

His mind drifted, and Dean could have kicked himself, but he didn't know why the hell he wasn't able to goddamn _focus._ Ok, so this wasn't exactly easy as pie, he had to admit that, but it wasn't one of the worst situations he'd ever found himself him, either. He should be able to goddamn focus, center himself. He wasn't going to get anywhere bailing out like a goddamn wimp, whining about the big baddies that had hurt him a freaking lifetime ago. He was better than this, stronger – dad had taught him better.

John had taught him to keep his shit together, push past the weaknesses of mind and body and assess situations, pick them apart and put them back together, form a plan of action. Dean should be able to do better than _this_…

But this…he just didn't think that he'd be able to hold on to whatever little snippet of sanity he was still clinging to. He just wanted those chains off, wanted to roll up and not _feel_ anymore, just for a little while. If he could just lie down… His mind was drifting, a sickening swirl of past and present flashing across his inner eye and Dean had trouble figuring out which flicker of insanity chasing through his mind was real and which wasn't.

He just needed to get his senses back – figure out how the hell he'd be able to get out of this now. Somehow the odds were stacked just a tiny bit against him this time around.

It was hilarious, really, thinking that now, him being older and bigger and stronger and so much more experienced, he shouldn't be able to make it out of here by himself.

Of course, Joe had apparently learned from his former mistake – he hadn't dared to leave him untied this time around. The only difference to the last time was, that he'd left Dean's eyes open – unbound, and that was about the best thing Dean could think of, the biggest blessing ever. He remembered very vividly the mind-numbing panic that had seized him, time and time again, the struggles against attacks of claustrophobia that he'd known would have knocked him out cold instantly.

While Joe's spirit had remained mute throughout his little torture session, his eyes slightly vacant and eerily expressionless, Dean had a feeling that he'd known exactly what he'd been doing, knew not to make the same mistakes he'd made 13 years ago.

Not that it would have changed much – thinking how the fuck-head had gotten away nice and clean back then because Dean had been too much of a coward to come after them, to either judge them himself or deliver them to the authorities like he really, really should have.

Well, hindsight was a great thing. Great way to punish oneself. Great way to get nowhere, too.

Dean rolled his head back between his outstretched arms, managed to tip it back and lean it against the wall. He strained his neck to shift his weight a little towards his left while breathing through the wave of pain that hit his chest with just this simple movement. The act left him lightheaded and dizzy for a second, but he forced himself to breathe through it, to focus. FOCUS.

His eyes opened slowly, sluggishly, his gaze directed past his outstretched arms and trapped wrists to the ceiling above him, once again subjecting him to the sight of the chains and beam way above his head.

He had no idea how those chains had gotten there, had no idea how they'd been fixed. Back then…he thought he remembered hearing a linkage of some sort when they'd pulled him up, but there was no sign of that anywhere now.

He gave a feeble tuck at the restraints, but the things didn't budge one inch.

Awesome.

It was still night out, that much he could see - hear, too. The sounds were eerily familiar, like he'd travelled back in time. When he'd woken up, tied up and _hurt,_ but able to move, goddamn it, his legs at least the only thing he could move. But he had been able to move. And he had. Had made it, too.

The sheer memory of the arduous walk through the woods, blindfolded and gagged and bleeding and in pain left him shivering with exhaustion and the wish to never, ever even think about it again, let alone go through it yet another time. But there was no way he was just going to roll up and die now, no way he'd simply give in to his bodies demands and give up the fight.

There was no way.

He owed it to Sammy.

Owed it to Sam to spend at least his last months on earth with his little brother.

To prepare him, for a life without Dean.

To give him whatever he had left, all his love and compassion and all the hopes he'd always had for Sam, his only reason to live for so long. So now it was time for payback, actually, time to give Sam something to hold on to as well.

The resolution strengthened Dean, gave him purpose again.

He was going to find a way out of this, was going to get back to Sam, let the kid patch him up again – let him go into full on mother-hen mode. And then, once Dean was better, he'd set out and waste Joe, once and for all. Would make him pay, even though it was a little late for that.

Then he'd find the others.

Dean had no clue as to what his plan of action should be with them though. Those guys…they still were beyond him. They'd kept clean, as far as he could tell, had kept a low profile and stayed out of the headlights. Just like he'd told Janie they should, or else he wouldn't even have thought twice about them being human or not. But unfortunately they still _were _humans – something he wasn't sure he was ready to touch, even after everything... Dean just prayed that there'd be a way to punish them without the decision weighing on his conscience.

Dean shook his head lightly, trying to clear the cobwebs starting to cloud his brain, threatening to pull him under. He couldn't let that happen.

He'd worry about one thing at a time, leave the worrying about everything at once to Sam, just like he usually did. The kid was much better at it than he was, anyways.

Multitasking – it was supposed to be a female thing – women didn't tire of telling men that, right? Well, he'd have to make sure Sam knew that…princess that he was. Always worrying himself sick, about everything at once. And Dean always gave him hell for it, so he really should know better than to pick up on Sam's habits now of all times. He had more important things to worry about.

First, he needed to get out of here, back to Sam.

Then, he had to salt and burn Joe, nice and slow. That even rhymed, actually, so it had to be something good…

Then he'd worry about the ones left.

Sounded like a simple enough plan.

The only catch being, that he had no idea how to accomplish even the first step to said plan.

He once again lifted his head, tried to look around himself, to find something, anything to help him get out of his current predicament, when suddenly he felt the air around him cool down so quickly, it felt like his breath practically froze inside his airway, unable to make I past his numb lips.

Dean knew what was coming, knew it because he remembered only too vividly, had been forced to remember through uncountable nightmares. One last time Dean tore at his restraints, threw his whole body weight down and away, attempting to break the chains, slip them off – anything. Hell, he'd probably attempt to chew off his hands if he could have reached them, but all tries remained fruitless.

Joe was in front of him so suddenly, Dean flinched despite the signs that had announced his presence.

The ghost advanced at lightening speed, crowding Dean closer to the wall, freezing hands grabbing him and spinning him around, face to the wall, smashing his cheekbone against the bare plaster.

Dean could do nothing as Joe pressed him against the wall, fingers like icicles digging into his scalp and pulling his head back at a painful angle. A moment later Dean could see, out of the corner of his eyes, as Joe brought something up towards Dean's face. He tried in vain to yank his head away from the ghost's grasp, and in the end was left to do nothing but struggle - to make it as hard as possible - as Joe wound a slightly damp and stale smelling piece of cloth around his head, covering Dean's eyes completely, leaving him in darkness.

_He heard the swishing sound of something slicing through the air, but before his tortured brain could even begin to comprehend what this sound might be, it kind of explained itself. The whip hit his bare back with full force and with the first surprise of pain Dean cried out. He instinctively pressed his body as close to the wall as possible, knowing full well that he couldn't get away but trying anyway._

Oh sweet Jesus…this simply couldn't be true. It couldn't _be_.

Dean forced out a mirthless laugh, unbelieving, trying to overplay the panic that slowly started seeping into every available pore of his body.

This was not the way this was going to end…it was not the way he was going to die.

He was not going to hell by the hand of this…this stupid fuck. Joe was _not_ going to send him downstairs ahead of time. Dean was not leaving, period, without seeing Sammy…god, he'd promised his little brother, had promised to always be there for him, to protect him, to keep him safe.

This just couldn't be…

Dean pushed himself away from the wall, forcing his legs to carry him, throwing his body against the bonds, hearing the chains rattle and creak as he yanked on them with all the fervour he could muster.

Sharp pain sliced through his wrists, his shoulders groaning under the strain as he tore against the restraints, unaware.

He needed to get away, needed to get to Sam, see him, talk to him. Make him understand. About everything. There were so many things left to be said, so many things that he needed to tell Sam… he needed to know that Sam understood why Dean had done it, why he'd given his life for his little brother's.

He needed Sam to know that, yes, he was scared, shitless, out of his mind.

About going to hell.

Not knowing what was going to happen to him.

Not knowing what was going to happen to Sam.

Not knowing if he'd break.

But he needed to make Sam understand that, despite all that, despite almost going insane with fear about all that and more, that he didn't regret it. Not one second. That he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

And he needed Sam to accept it.

To come to terms with it.

To make it through it and be able to keep going.

Because if he wasn't, it would all have been for nothing. And that would make no fucking sense at all.

Again he sensed before he saw or even heard him, Joe's ghost eerily still so far, never saying one word, never making one sound.

Yet the second the ice-cold tendrils of Joe's presence once again wrapped themselves around Dean's struggling form, he knew that, this time, he wasn't going to get out of this.

Dean tried to prepare himself for what he knew would follow, waited for the swishing sound of the whip as it cut through the ice cold air the second before it hit bare skin, ripping through flesh and muscle.

He took a painful breath and steeled himself, closed his eyes and searched for that place, somewhere inside of him, the place that would keep him grounded and strong.

When he was still a kid, or at least a decade or two younger, it would have been his home, the only home he'd ever known, that kept him sane. He'd think of their house, back in Lawrence, think of his mom and dad and baby Sammy, sitting in the living room or at the kitchen table, laughing or eating or watching TV. He'd think of the first (and last) baseball game his dad had taken him to, about the tree house they'd built that hadn't even made it past its first winter. He'd think about the song his mom had sung to him when putting him to bed, the song Dean later would sing to Sam whenever the little squirt refused to go to sleep like he was told to.

Dean didn't really know when that had changed, when his safe place had turned into a safe-_something_ instead. But somewhere along the line, the house and the memory of his family in happier time had faded and in its stead had come memories of other places, nameless and unimportant instead.

The one thing that stayed the same though, throughout those places that he didn't even care to remember the names of, was the person involved in it. It would always be Sam, only him, not even dad… Sure, John would be there sometimes, but only as an extra. Mainly it would be Sam, little snippets of happiness that they'd shared somewhere along the road trip that had been their life. Even when Dean succumbed to humming a song or counting a beat or reciting an exorcism or song text or whatever else to keep himself distracted from pain or fear, Sam would always be there, somewhere on the sidelines. He didn't have to do anything, simply had to be there and Dean would be centered and as alright as he could ever be under the circumstances.

So when the panic threatened to take him over this time, Dean thought, with all his heart, of his little brother. Closed his eyes underneath the blindfold and imagined his face. A younger one, one that had been happier than it used to be nowadays.

He thought of Sammy, just some months ago, Dean coming back into the dishevelled room at Cold Oaks, finding his brother standing and breathing and _alive_, hugging the shit out of him just to see Sam fucking up and about, even though clearly confused and still in pain.

But alive – which was all that ever mattered.

That memory, the feeling of _relief _and _happiness_, despite what it had cost were enough to make Dean forget, for just a second or two. Was enough to prepare him for anything – he thought.

Only that, the mere blink of an eye later, reality smashed back into him with such force, it made holding on to whatever thought or safe-place impossible.

If he didn't make it out of here – if he didn't manage to free himself, if Sam didn't find him in time – there'd be nothing left.

Dean wouldn't even be granted sweet oblivion, peace in death and all that nonsense…

This time, he'd be going to go straight to hell.

The edges between past and present blurred together, wrapping themselves around his brain as Dean struggled once again to fight the quickly rising panic at being restrained and visually impaired, lost in the dark.

He heard Joe move behind him, heard laughter that engulfed him through time and space and tried to prepare himself, locking his knees, squeezing his eyes shut despite being unable to see through the blindfold anyways. His hands groped for the ties as he braced himself against the force about to strike his back, ripping him open, blanked his mind and hoped, prayed, that this time he'd be able to be stronger, would not let them see…

Joe took his sweet time, the wait grating on Dean's nerves worse than anything, worse than the pain he knew was to come.

He had about a split second to gear up, to assemble his body just enough so he wasn't going to face Joe completely unprepared.

The second the pain hit Dean, tearing through his body to make his teeth rattle and his heart skip more than just one beat, making him lose his stronghold and tumble towards the here and now again, Dean knew that Sam would be too late.

That Dean himself was too late to admitting that he was fucking scared.

He regretted never telling Sam what this was all about - the nightmares, the memories rendering him immobile many, many years ago and then again just recently, during the past couple of days since he'd found out about what was going on in these parts of the woods.

He regretted not trusting the only person he could - _should_ have trusted, always, with something that he so obviously needed help with.

He regretted not having the chance to see Sam one last time, to hug him, squeeze him, ruffle that insane mop of hair.

He regretted that he wouldn't get the chance to tell Sam that he was sorry. For what exactly, Dean didn't know - but just in general. Somehow Dean had the feeling that he hadn't said it quite often enough. And Sam deserved to hear it every once in a while.

For the first time since making the deal, Dean regretted not having more time left.

And then even that didn't matter anymore.

OoOoOoO

tbc

_AN:_

Alright, so, as always thanks to everybody leaving me reviews, putting me on alert and even favorite...I never thought this story would elicit this kind of response. I hope I can live up to your expectations for this story.

Please let me know what you think - it always means a lot to me.

Despite a sh...load of stress at work I'm positive I'll be able to post the next chapter next week, as always and, if I'm lucky - and OcherMe is still willing to - I hope the next chapter will even be beta-ed - no more emberassing mistakes for you to suffer through...

Thanks so much for reading and take care!


	4. Chapter 4

_Unfortunately I still don't own them - the only things I do own are the mistakes in spelling and grammar, but I hope I managed to keep them to a bearable minimum ;-) Please read and hopfully enjoy:_

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 4**

Sam reached what looked like it once had been a logging road roughly an hour after taking off from the parking lot.

He'd been running throughout, his legs pumping like a carburator and still he hadn't been able to make progress as he would have liked since going was pretty much uphill throughout.

He stopped once he got to the road, taking a minute to catch his breath, have a drink and orient himself but barely a minute later he was on his way again, jogging slowly down the path towards what he hoped to be the house Dean was checking out.

If he was even still there, that was.

It _had_ occurred to Sam sometime during his obstacle run through the forest that maybe Dean was done scouting the place and on his way back to the car already, that they missed each other in the wild array of trees and underbrush, would pass each other by mere yards and still never meet, the forest was that dense.

Sam had the decency to feel bad about Dean, for a second or two, imagining his brother coming back to the Impala, finding Sam not there, surely panicking and going after _him_, then, Dean running to the place Sam had been checking out while Sam was doing just the opposite.

That would just be freaking peachy – Sam could already _smell_ the mood his brother would be in, could hear the sharp remarks about not calling or at least leaving a note and then the chain of grumbled remarks and digs that would be thrown his way for days on end.

Only, Dean was in no position to be mad at him, really, Dean being the one taking off without telling Sam the whole truth about what this was all about. It still troubled Sam that he didn't know more about that, as a matter of fact, that he had no idea what he was going after, no idea what he could be running into. He really should have stayed and listened to Bobby, heard him out, but the worry about Dean had gained the upper hand. And here he was, running through a forest, looking for a brother on the loose and an unknown enemy who might or might not be chasing after them.

Another couple of minutes later Sam rounded a bend in the road and suddenly found himself right in front of what appeared to be an abandoned storage hall of some sort.

He'd read that this area had been prime game hunting territory some time ago. Sam had heard that there used to be those houses scattered through the forest that were used by game-hunters to prepare the animals they'd shot and cut the meat off the bones, leaving the parts they didn't need behind in the woods. So this could very well be one of those places, long since abandoned and presenting wonderful lurking ground for whatever supernatural abnormalcy was hiding in these woods.

Sam once again stopped at the edge of the little clearing surrounding the building, the fauna already pushing in towards the structure, attempting to take over and make the whole thing as much part of the forest as the trees and bushes surrounding it. Sam ducked behind one of the larger tree trunks lining the way, hiding himself from possible view, he hoped, gearing up to not go in unprepared.

It was too quiet.

That was the first thing he realized – the night too quiet, no nocturnal sounds – like he'd noticed before. No crickets or owls or whatever else might be roaming these woods under the cover of darkness.

The house was dark – and quiet. And for a moment Sam feared that Dean might indeed be gone already, that he'd found nothing and made his way back to the car.

Sam was still a little out of breath from his run through the forest, stomach flipping uncomfortably with premonition that could be completely unfounded…or frighteningly accurate, but Sam straightened himself with a force that would have made Dean oh so proud. Dad too, come to think of it - he'd always given Sam hell for being too slow, too soft…

He dropped his duffel, released the safety on his gun and grabbed a hold of the shotgun filled with rock salt with his left while already darting out from the tree line, closing the distance to the only door he'd been able to make out with five long strides.

He found the door to the building closed but not opening inwards like he'd hoped so he had to quickly grab the doorknob with his right, still clutching the gun tightly and twisting the knob, swinging it outwards. When nothing came rushing out towards him as the door swung fully open, when no gunfire perforated the door or walls around him either (one never knew…) he hurled his body around and through the door, gun raised in front of him, eyes taking a minute to adjust to the gloom inside the high, yet dark structure.

Sam thought he'd drop both his guns when he discovered who he'd come here for.

He was the first thing that met his eyes, straight in front of him, some sick imitation of a man tied up to meet his firing squad it almost seemed.

How Sam managed to keep his composure was lost on him later on, but somehow he did manage to sweep the room, both gun and shotgun at the ready to make sure that it was indeed clean, that they were actually alone.

Only when he was sure that there was no one else there did he finally lower the shotgun, safety still released, while he stuffed the gun into the waistband of his jeans, figuring that, whatever might attack them, it would at least be hurt when he shot it with salt, and made his way across the room, closing in on his brother as quickly as possible.

At first sight, Dean didn't seem to have noticed him coming into the room, he'd remained motionless.

Now, drawing closer, Sam realized with a mixture between relief and dread that his brother wasn't quite as still as he'd first appeared to be. Sam's stomach knotted into kinks the size of baseballs at the least the closer he got and he had to choke back a painful hiss as he finally got to take in Dean's condition completely.

Sam bent down to deposit the shotgun on the floor, not able to hold on to it anymore, not caring if that was a mistake or not at the moment.

When he straightened again he was barely a step away from his brother, tied up like a Christmas-turkey His arms were stretched up above his head, wrist almost smothered by layers and layers of chain wound around the joints, his body stretched out so he could only just stand on his feet anymore. He wore his jeans and t-shirt, which was ripped in places and specked with blood where apparently he'd spewed out blood-tinged saliva, bigger stains marking the place the gash on his head had dripped a slow but steady trail down his face and chin to soak into the light grey fabric.

Some sort of cloth had been used as a blindfold, smothering the upper part of Dean's face in fabric.

His head was down, chin tucked against his chest and he was breathing…still breathing. Breathing so hard, as a matter of fact, Sam feared his brother was hyperventilating if the way his chest was heaving, a wet, wheezing sound accompanying each intake and exhale, was any way to go by.

"Dean…hey, Dean."

Sam carefully cupped his brother's chin, tipping his head slightly up and almost jumped out of his skin when Dean suddenly tore his face out of his grasp, whipping his head backwards and smacking it pretty hard into the wall behind him.

A deep, heartfelt groan pressed past his slightly parted lips before he could quench the sound, pressing his lips shut so tight that they were barely visible anymore.

Sam reached forward automatically, once more taking a hold of his brother's chin, careful to be more gentle this time as to not startle him again. He only now realized that the grimy piece of cloth that had been tied around Dean's head, covering his eyes was part of Dean's own t-shirt. A wad of fabric had been ripped out of the side of the shirt, bits of blood and stains of sweat still marring the fabric, making it clear that the blindfold had been applied at least after he'd received part of whatever beating or torture he'd gone through.

"Dean...hey, Dean, it's me…Sam. Come on…stay calm, let me… Are you hurt? Where…where's the blood coming from?"

Sam reached up towards the blindfold, felt Dean wince away from him again but wouldn't let him this time as he took a hold on to his brother's neck with the other hand, keeping him still.

"Shhh – hey, it's alright. Let me help."

"Sam?"

Sam winced at the rough and raw sound of Dean's voice, the not so subdued undercurrent of panic that laced through that one simple word.

"Yeah, it's me, Dean. I'm just…"

"Take it off, Sammy…please just…"

There was no question as to what Dean meant.

"Yeah…alright…gimme a second."

Once the blindfold was off, deposited unceremoniously on the floor Dean practically smashed his head back into Sam's still lingering hand at his neck, took in a gulping breath as if he'd just removed a gag instead of something covering his eyes. His eyes were wide open, lids blinking furiously, long lashes bunched together and fanning droplets of sweat down his flushed cheeks.

Sam just stood there for a minute, simply holding him, waiting for him to get his bearings again.

"Sam…what…did you…"

Dean could barely get a word out, his breaths still rushing out of him way too fast, the intakes short and clipped and Sam could see his brother's lips turn slightly bluish all of a sudden, his eyes opening impossibly wider as he apparently wasn't able to pull enough air into his starving lungs.

"Dean…Dean, hey. Come on. You need to calm down, take a deep breath. You're hyperventilating dude…"

Sam grabbed Dean's face with both his palms, wincing at the clamminess of Dean's skin, the way he was cold yet covered in a thin layer of sweat, his eyes glazed over and unfocused, pupils mere pinpoints in a see of mossy green, searching fruitlessly for something to latch on to.

Sam furiously tried to both hold on to Dean's eyes with his own while at the same time trying to determine a way to free his brother from his bonds. The chains didn't seem to have any kind of lock or latch to open them, no pulley or anything in sight that made it clear on how whoever had done this had gotten Dean in that position.

"Dean, come on, try to focus on me, man. I'm here now, I'm gonna take you down, but you're going to have to work with me here."

Dean's eyes finally snapped towards Sam's, latching onto him with such ferocity it made Sam blink once, hard, before he had himself under control again.

There it was again, the raw _need_ in those green eyes, the sudden pull from hurt and in pain and confused to completely centered, simply because he caught sight of Sam, his little brother, his anchor. Sam couldn't, he simply couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he meant that much to someone else, even though it was his own brother - that he would mean that much to _anyone_. That anyone would love him so indefinitely…

Even though, honestly now, he did love Dean, too, unconditionally, despite all the rough times they'd had over the years…this was still his big brother he was talking about here – his whole life, goddamn it… The man that had raised him, that managed to drive him mad with exasperation and worry and drove him to the brink of a mental breakdown at times and still made him feel safe and loved and _at home_ like nothing else ever did.

So, yeah, he'd do anything for Dean, now more so than ever before, but he still thought that he was able to be more reasonable and think things through before he acted…a trade that his brother had never been able to master – ever. Not when it came to Sam.

"You get him…?"

Dean's voice was rough and pained, but his eyes had cleared up, had regained some of their spark.

"Did I get whom, Dean? Who did this…who did this to you?"

His brother's gaze darted across the room, flicking from corner to corner almost feverishly before settling on Sam again.

"No wendigo…a spirit. Surprised me…I…how did you find me?"

Reassured that Dean was actually aware again, Sam let go of his brothers face albeit reluctantly and reached up for Dean's wrists, testing the sturdy chain with his fingers. He wouldn't be able to shed those with just sheer power of will or muscle force, that much was for sure.

Damn, he really should have brought a bolt cutter or something the like, but who could have known… he thought he had a miniature one out in the duffel he'd left behind, but Sam highly doubted that he'd be able to cut through a chain this thick with that one. Still he had to at least try.

"I'll tell you all about my awesome tracking skills in a minute, Dean, but right now I'd rather get you out of those chains. Listen, I need to go outside, grab the duffel and see if we've got anything to break those links…"

"Didn't pack anything…" Dean rasped, eyes flicking around the room, checking behind Sam before settling back on his brother again.

"Yeah…I know. Still gotta get you out of them somehow. You know how you got…tied up like this? Anyway to get up to that beam, some kind of pulley or something?"

Dean only shook his head, gaze raising back up to the chains wounding around his wrists. Sam followed his gaze.

The chains weren't fastened around Dean's wrist, only wound tightly, cutting off the blood flow and chafing the sensitive skin raw, pulled taut by Dean's own weight dragging them in a vice grip and making it impossible for Dean to free himself. If Sam would manage to lift his brother a little, take the pressure off the chains, he might be able to unwind them, slip them off Dean's arms.

It should work.

Sam once again looked around the room, searching fruitlessly for something to step onto, but found nothing. And since he really didn't want to leave his brother here, tied up like this, unsure if the ghost came back to finish whatever he'd started, Sam chose to give it a try and free Dean without some very much appreciated help.

But he could do it. At least, his freakish height would come in handy here, which would also serve to cut any teasing and prodding about being a bigfoot from Dean down to a minimum for at least a couple of days.

Maybe more.

If it worked.

"OK, alright. I'm gonna try and lift you up a little, see if we can pull you free. You gotta work with me here, try and hold your arms up, even if the pressure eases off so I can slip the chains free, alright?"

A short nod was all the affirmation Sam got, but t was enough.

Sam straightened up and moved towards his brother once more, moving chest to chest with him. Dean's eyes slipped closed, his forehead dropping to Sam's shoulder as Sam moved him a little farther back, against the wall to be able to use it for support. Hot breath blushed the side of Sam's shoulder in short, clipped burst, seeping through his shirt, as he wound one arm around his brother's middle, bracing his muscles and locking his knees.

He grunted under the effort it took to heave Dean's body upwards, and even though he felt his brother's struggles to help him, pushing himself onto tiptoes, he still was left with frighteningly much of Dean's weight to carry. He barely heard his brother's groans through the sharp bursts of his own breaths, struggling to balance Dean until he could feel his arms sag a little as the pressure of his own weight on the chains finally let off a little.

Sam gave one last push, shoving Dean upwards, giving them both a little more space to work with.

Dean, trembling with both relief and pain as blood flowed back into his abused appendages, knew that the fight wasn't over, though, and somehow managed to stretch his arms once more, giving Sam the chance he needed. Because of his little advantage in height Sam, already standing on tiptoes, still had little problems reaching the chains above his brother's outstretched arms.

"Ready?"

"Been born ready…"

Sam smirked, then dug and wriggled two of his fingers between Dean's wrists and the chains, feeling a faint smile crease his lips as they gave way with a silent groan.

"Tug now…" he instructed between harsh breaths, and felt Dean obey immediately, his own fingers getting squished between slick flesh and cold metal for an instant before Dean's wrists finally slipped free and dropped on top of Sam's head with a heavy thud, then slipping off to rest on his shoulders.

The moment Dean's hands were free, the chains suddenly evaporated right before Sam's eyes, a low puff and whoosh of cold air the only indication that indeed they had been there only a second before.

Sam had no time to be dumbstruck, surprised, speechless, but found himself stumbling instead as Dean slumped against him, his legs apparently not able to carry him without the support of his bonds anymore. He seemed to be ale to take some of the brunt of the fall still but in the end remained helpless as his knees gave out and he tumbled into Sam's chest.

Sam managed to snake his unoccupied arm around his bother's back as well and helped to ease him down carefully, dropping to his knees and gently pulling Dean down along with him.

And again it took him a moment too long to realize that the gasp of pain and sharp intake of air from Dean wasn't from the change in position or the sudden loss of his equilibrium, at least not solely so.

Sam frowned at the feel of something warm and sticky on Dean's back, adjusting his grip a little and this time Dean gave out a hoarse shout, barely muffled by Sam's t-shirt as he dug his face into it to quench the sound in its beginning, obviously not succeeding.

"Dean…what…?"

Sam removed one of his hands as Dean coiled away from his touch but still kept a hold on him with the other, keeping him from tipping sideways.

"What the hell…?"

Sam stared at the palm of his hand, dumbstruck, his brain not able to come up with an explanation of the dark red substance smearing all over his fingers.

"Think…might have hurt my back…?"

Sam could feel Dean smirk against his shoulder, face still smashed into his shirt. The cold sweat of Dean's skin already seeped through the fabric to cling to Sam, providing a sickening contrast to the equally sticky yet decidedly _warm_ substance coating Dean's back.

Sam leaned over and while he didn't get a real good look at the damage he didn't think he needed to, right now. The sheer amount of blood soaking into Dean's shirt was a clear enough indication that he hadn't just received a minor scratch there.

"Fuck…damn it Dean, what the hell happened? Why didn't you tell me…?"

Dean shrugged, hissed and stilled his shoulders quickly before lifting his head off Sam's chest slightly, leaning away from him so he could breathe again.

"Would it have made a difference? You'd just left me hanging there…if you'd have known that…I'm pretty much filleted like a grilled chicken here…?"

Sam didn't even grace his brother with an answer as he positioned himself carefully so he could move around his brother, Dean now finally able to hold at least most of his body-weight himself again.

Up close, from this angle, Dean's back looked a mess.

The formerly light grey shirt was torn pretty much in two, a rip in the fabric running from Dean's right shoulder down towards his left hip, the shirt gaping open to reveal a deep, ugly gash that ran all the way down his brother's back, the wound spilling blood everywhere. It had already soaked through the back of Dean's jeans, smearing all over his skin and the wall he'd been leaning against.

How he could have missed that stayed beyond Sam. How could he have been so fucking stupid not to have checked before doing anything at all…?

"Damn it…Jesus, Dean. What the hell…did the spirit do that?"

"No Sam…a rogue squirrel jumped me…" Dean commented dryly, eyebrow arching tiredly.

"You're a riot, Dean, really…bet it was a female one, trying to get a bite of you." Sam smirked, playing along with his brother's act to help distract him from the gruesome reality.

"…you know how women get…"

"Told you – one day you're whole womanizerism would turn against you, man."

"That's not even a word, Sammy…"

"Like you would know!"

Sam gently peeled the shirt away from where it was basically glued to his brother's skin with blood in various stages of drying.

"Sorry…" he mumbled as Dean twitched, then stilled again.

The shirt came away with a wet squelch and a shudder went through Dean's body, his skin, where it was visible underneath all the grime, once again covered in goose-bumps. Sam could clearly see the tensed muscles in his brother's arms as he braced himself against the ground in front of him, kneeling on the floor, swaying slightly.

"Alright, listen. I'll go get the first aid kit…I left it outside. We get you patched up and then I go get the car. There's an old road up front, so I'll find the way and drive up here, pick you up…"

Dean suddenly tensed even more, fingers digging painfully into Sam's shoulder as he apparently tried to push himself to his feet.

"I'm not…I'm good, Sammy, really. You just put some bandages on it…and I'm good to go…"

Sam huffed a mirthless laugh, trying to cover up the annoyed eye-roll that was begging to be released with a vengeance. The day his brother would lay down and admit to being hurt was going to be the day when hell froze over…bad comparison, he knew that, but he couldn't come up with anything else right now.

"Right, of course. We could do that…only that I'm really not too keen on _carrying_ your sorry ass out of here as soon as you pass out from blood loss…"

"Come on – it's not that bad…I can walk…"

"It's a one hour hike through the woods, Dean. I doubt you can as much as walk a mile with that wound…let alone… Are you hurt anywhere else, too, Dean, anything you didn't tell me about?"

Dean rolled his eyes, winced when the movement hurt his head, most likely, tugged the corners of his mouth into a slightly lopsided smile.

"You know me…'m always good, Sammy…"

"Yeah, right."

Unfortunately, Sam knew that it was true. Even though it was wrong so many times over, he couldn't even begin to spell it out to his brother. But Dean was right – sometimes it was just this unwillingness to accept failure that kept them succeeding many a times.

"'sides…it's mostly downhill from here…you could always just drop me and pick me up at the bottom…"

"You know, I might just do that. Hold still now, I'm gonna run outside and get the duffel – be back in a sec."

He only heard Dean grunt a response, then something that sounded a bit like _you better come back or I'll have your ass_, but he really couldn't be sure.

OoOoOoO

The patch-up-job was everything but professional and probably not very effective, in the end. But it was all Sam could do under the circumstances, and Dean knew it.

Still didn't make it any easier to sit through the piss poor and highly painful process of getting his back practically smothered in differently shaped and sized gauze pads and a couple layers of bandages that Sam wound around his chest. He was trying to be careful, Dean _knew_, and he wasn't doing half as bad as most people would have, given the circumstances, still it was so far from being alright, he really would have liked to just shout his complaints to the heavens – just for the sake of it.

Dean didn't really know the extend of the wound himself, it was kind of hard to see his own back without a mirror, but he thought he had a pretty good mental picture at least…only, of course, the pain was pretty much spread all over, so he couldn't really be absolutely sure.

All he could tell right now was that it felt as if his whole back was cut open.

And since the thought alone wasn't pleasant, he didn't _want_ to venture farther than that.

"Dean, what the hell happened – how did he…do this?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably, attempting to keep his upper body as straight as possible, leaning precariously against the wall because there was no way he was going to be able to keep his balance without support any longer.

Yeah…how did he do that exactly?

Joe had come back – that much Dean remembered. Had come back and had once again blindfolded him, despite Dean's protests and pleading even - but Sam would never, ever know that, would never know how fucking _scared_ and _out of his mind_ Dean had been at the prospect of, again, being blindfolded. The memories of back then still too much to bear on a good day…

He'd thought he'd get whipped again, had prepared himself for the sound and the feel and the pain.

Only, the whip hadn't come…in its stead, there had been something else entirely.

Something hard and sharp and unforgiving.

Something like a crowbar, only with even sharper edges, digging into his flesh and ripping him open.

And he'd felt every single second of every single agonizing inch that that thing, whatever the hell it had been, had torn through skin and flesh and muscle.

"Dean…?"

Sam had finished wrapping him up like a birthday present, put the rest of their meagre supplies back in the duffel and crouched down in front of Dean again. He gave him an encouraging smile, but Dean could see from the strong set of his brothers jaw, the way the crease in the middle of his forehead was deeper than the grand canyon, that Sam wasn't having such a fun time there himself.

Dean watched Sam's hand, watched him wipe them on his jeans fruitlessly, attempting to clean them of his brother's blood, not quite succeeding though.

Dean felt himself shivering, and it wasn't entirely because of the cold and the pain. He started to shrug but quenched the motion in its beginning, thinking better of it at the last second.

"Don't know…must have been a super agile ghost…since it got the jump on me…"

He smirked, then felt himself blanch and gasp as Sam draped his jacket over his shoulders, jostling him in the process.

"Sorry…So, a super agile ghost, was it…?"

Dean nodded, leaned his head against the wall, trying to snatch as much rest as possible before heading out there again.

"Yeah…like, Spiderman, dude. Or that circus guy from X-men. I'm telling you…"

He saw Sam smirk and roll his eyes, but at least some of that smile was genuine – or so Dean thought and that alone made the effort worth it.

"So, did Spiderman also fillet you with a kitchen knife? And tie you up and beat the living shit out of you?"

"Dude – too graphic…"

"Yeah, well…you should see yourself…!"

"I know…look awesome."

"We should probably discuss this later. Right now I'd really like to get going."

"Yeah – we probably should."

"You sure you don't want to wait here till I get the car?"

Dean tried to keep his face as straight as possible, tried not to show how fucking _scared_ he actually was at staying here – by himself. Even though now he knew – knew that it was just a spirit, something he could deal with way easier than he could with humans and still…

"Nah…I'm good…could use the exercise…"

"Right."

Sam's face conveyed the doubt about it, but Dean shot him his most reassuring smile, knowing that it probably didn't amount to much but giving it his best shot anyways. No need to worry the kid more than necessary- and he really did feel alright – kinda. If you didn't count the pain pretty much coursing through his body like a never-ending current, the weakness that pretty much knocked him face down just sitting down like this. There really was no way to tell how he'd fare standing up, let alone walking…

"You think you can get up?"

Sam's voice was pitched low and soothing, and for some weird and awkward reason, it actually worked on him.

"Yeah, sure…don't need your help…" Dean snapped, regretting it the second the words left his mouth. God, he was one pissy patient.

Sam took a reluctant step back.

"Fine, so let's go, then." He said quietly.

Dean pressed his shoulder against the wall, attempting to push himself up with the help of the unyielding support of the wall as leverage…and cursed under his breath when he had to admit defeat – or at least partial defeat. Because he'd be damned if he actually _asked_ for help here.

He kept his head down, only lifting his eyes to search for his brother and found him, right there, in front of him, standing up and duffel swung over his shoulder, waiting for him with an eyebrow raised in mock exasperation. Dean could see that it took about the kid's willpower to not break and give in unasked, but in the end Dean didn't think he'd prevail.

"Any time now, Dean…"

"Yeah, well…maybe I could need _a little_ help here…"

Sam practically sagged with relief when finally bending down, carefully grasping Dean around the shoulders to take most of his weight and support him until he got his feet under him again.

It worked better than he'd thought…well, despite the fucking pain, and the dizziness washing over him with the change in altitude – and that feeling of complete and utter _thankfulness_ that he had Sam there by his side, taking most of his weight, holding onto him…simply being there.

For the first time he realized that this would definitely turn out differently than last time…simply for this one, single fact – that he was not alone in it.

Not this time.

OoOoOoO

They'd walked for about 15 minutes before Dean finally gave in and sagged against him unabashedly, not even trying to cover up how weak he had to be feeling for sure.

Sam knew that his brother had lost a lot of blood, the signs right there, in front of him – on Dean's body, all over the wall in that fucking slaughterhouse he'd been held in. Sam realized that he still had no answers as to what exactly had happened in there, and he knew it should worry him, should bother him that he didn't know, that there could be others getting harmed because they just walked away from this now without ending this. But no matter how you turned it – it would always be his brother's safety first, as long as Sam had the least bit to say about it, he'd make sure that Dean was alright before anything else.

Just like his brother always made sure that Sam was safe.

So, the few occasions he'd get, Sam was going to return the favour.

The slope they were going down got steeper and Sam had his hands full with staying on his own feet and supporting his brother's weight at the same time. He was acutely aware of the forced breaths that kept pushing themselves out from Dean's tight lips, the little grunts of pain he tried to cover up with coughs and little curses, pretending he'd stepped on a stone or root lying in his path whenever he stumbled.

Sam gave him the feeling of success, pretended to not notice how Dean grew heavier and heavier, how his skin got paler and basically drenched in sweat while he was shaking and trembling and walking on legs seemingly made of rubber like a newborn colt.

Yet Dean refused to stop, refused to take a break for even one minute, pressing on as if fearing that he wouldn't be able to get up again after. Either that or not being able to get away from whatever still seemed to be chasing them…chasing _him_.

This case just got weirder and weirder – and Sam couldn't help but think that somehow it had gotten way too personal, too. Something in Dean's behaviour suggested clearly that there was something Dean wasn't telling him, Sam didn't need Bobby's input to know that. The way how at times Dean walked as if in trance, his eyes distant, breath quickening was disconcerting, as was the way Dean would suddenly snap back into reality once Sam simply spoke a word, gripped him a little harder. The look of unveiled relief when he seemed to be back in the here and now again was almost breathtaking to Sam.

Dean stumbled, sagged down as his leg buckled underneath him and Sam basically went down to his own knees along with him, had to hold on tighter in order to keep his brother from falling.

"Aw…Jesus, Sammy…"

"Sorry…sorry…"

Sam slipped his arm higher, again flinching along with Dean when he couldn't find purchase on his brother's back without aggravating the wound even more. A quick check revealed fresh blood already seeping through the makeshift bandages, soaking into the sleeve of Sam's jacket as well.

"Should have left you to get the car…I told you…"

"Yeah…right – you told me so. Always the smartass." Dean spat out between bursts of breath.

"Well, you could start to listen to me just once…wouldn't break a stone out of your crown, you know. You _can _trust me, Dean – there are some things that I'm right about sometimes."

"You know I do. Trust you…I do…"

Sam felt a shiver race down his spine. Why it should surprise him so much to hear those words coming out of his brother's mouth he had no idea – he knew that Dean trusted him…it was just that he didn't hear it all that often. Especially lately…

"Alright, that's…good to know!"

"Ready to keep going? Or you need a couple more minutes…?" Dean's voice was slightly forced, his eyes not quite meeting Sam's.

"Nah, I'm good…told you I'm way fitter than you…" Sam replied lightly.

Dean just smirked, breath rolling out of him forcefully as Sam pulled them up again, using one of the surrounding tree-trunks as support.

OoOoOoO

It wasn't until about another sometime later that Dean suddenly started talking, and that was when Sam knew he was getting worse.

Usually, Dean would eat his pain up, swallow it down and keep it hidden – he'd get quiet and withdrawn, focusing all his senses on keeping the pain inside and everybody else out, simply concentrating on breathing, running over lists in his head, singing songs, counting beats. Anything to _not_ talk, to not make it real.

So, when now Dean started talking – disconnected words and comments at first, soon developing into full sentences though, rambling on about how late summer in eastern Montana sucked out loud, how the trees were too green still, the ground too rough, and how was it even possible to go downhill for such a long time without hitting bottom? – Sam knew that he had really better left Dean to get the car. He really, really should have.

His brother felt unnaturally warm underneath Sam's hands, feverish heat seeping through his shirt and Sam's jacket, making it clear where all that rambling and talking was coming from. Because Dean with a fever was never a good thing – he'd either get violent or completely incoherent, never holding still, always fighting enemies both real and imagined.

Dean fell quiet once again when they had to manoeuvre their way around a tricky ditch and while the quiet unsettled Sam, he was almost thankful to not be forced to listen to his brother's feverish ramblings for just a minute. He'd definitely come to regret that decision in no time, but for now it was better to be able to keep pretending.

"We're almost there now, Dean…just another couple of minutes…"

Dean nodded, rolled a stiffened shoulder, hissing when the movement jarred at his wound, immediately tensing up again.

"This sucks, Sammy…"

"Yeah, I know. Sorry."

"Not really…your fault, is it?"

"Guess not…even though I really should have insisted on sticking together on this one."

Dean shot him a look that was hard to read before staring at the ground again, concentrating hard on keeping his breathing even and finding his footing without stumbling.

When they finally reached the road again Sam though he'd drop with relief. Another fifteen minutes that felt like an eternity later and they were at the Impala's door, Sam lowering his brother carefully inside, careful not to touch his back and to not let his brother touch the fabric of the seat with it as well, not quite succeeding.

Dean immediately twisted his body sideways, facing away from Sam and towards the driver's side, then quickly choosing the other side instead when his side brushed the backrest, which made him pale about two shades below white.

"Damn…"

Sam hadn't really been able to see the full extend of his brother's injuries, but he knew that now was not the time to delve into the topic much further. They had to get out of here and fast. Back to the cabin they'd rented, which had been way above their budget but had been the only place Dean had been willing to stop, for whatever reason. He'd refused to follow the signs to the towns only budget motel which apparently lay only a couple of miles on the other side of town and had rented the slightly overprized yet nicely furnished cabin instead.

Even though, realistically speaking, they _really _should head straight towards the hospital…

Knowing that that was out of the question, at least for now, Sam resigned himself to the inevitable, already dreading the treatment he knew was going to follow, hating it with a vengeance that was hardly imaginable yet knowing that there was hardly a way around it. Not until there really was not other way.

He fired up the engine and peeled rubber out of the parking lot, waiting for his brother's comment on abusing his baby, wincing when none came.

That really couldn't mean anything good at all.

OoOoOoO

tbc

_AN: _

_Hey, thanks to all of you still reading and supporting me throughout. I hope you're still enjoying this story._

_I'd love to know what you think, I actually pretty much depend on it to keep me going. So, please take a minute to drop me a reveiw, if you like._

_Other than that, the next chapter should be up as usual - next week that is!_

_Thanks again and take care!_


	5. Chapter 5

_First off, thanks so much for everybody reviewing, I know I didn't manage to reply to all of them, yet, but I will, I promise. Your encouragement and imputs mean so much to me, you won't ever be able to imagine!_

_Alright, here goes the next chapter:_

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 5**

Dean had wanted to give in to exhaustion all the way from finally getting to sit in his car to the cabin, which of course lay all the way _across_ town. To be honest, he'd wanted to just lie down and rest pretty much from the moment they'd left the building he'd been held in, but of course that hadn't been an option at all. He'd wanted to give in, just let his weary mind take over and give his even wearier body the reprieve it was begging for, to slip into a forgiving, numbing sleep.

But of course, his body had had other plans.

He'd felt every damn pothole, every dip and bump in the road, every goddamn piece of pebble and gravel that the wheels of his baby drove over. He'd prayed for the pain to recede, for him to either pass out or man up, so he could keep up the pretence that he wasn't as bad off as he really felt he was, but in the end it had been no use. The longer they went, the worse it got.

His chest and abdomen hurt from the beatings he'd received, even though he knew that those injuries were nothing compared to the mess that was his back. His back was an aching, screaming mass of pain, muscles trembling and twitching, nerve endings seizing were they'd been severed by whatever Joe had used to slice him open.

Dean knew he was going into shock – had taken him long enough. He knew that the wound had to be infected from the way his brain started clouding over, his head feeling like it was packed in layers and layers of heavy cotton. Fever was always making him feel groggy yet restless all at the same time, intensifying whatever pain he was feeling and turning it up another notch or two.

So this – definitely not something he looked forward to.

Unconsciousness would have been the preferred option, at least for a little while, but he wouldn't be Dean Winchester if things ever went smoothly for him, unfortunately.

So Dean had sat his way all through the drive from the parking lot to the cabin, which could not have taken more than 30 minutes but felt more like hours – at the least. He'd tried to angle his body so the wound wouldn't brush or press against anything but soon finding that close to impossible. No matter how he twisted himself, there always was something poking or jabbing him in places that he didn't liked to be poked or jabbed at any other day of the week – but most certainly not now.

Sam was talking – all the time – an incessant noise that felt oddly comforting coming from Dean's left, and while he didn't get every single word, it really didn't matter. All that mattered was, that Sam's voice kept him grounded, prevented him from drifting back to that god-awful place again…

When the car finally stopped in the driveway of their little cabin, door illuminated by the porch light they'd left on when setting out, Dean couldn't say that he was particularly relieved. He knew what was going to follow, and he wasn't looking forward to that part at all.

Sam had to help him out of the car, even though Dean did manage to push his door open himself, but beyond that, it was either sitting there waiting for the end of days (which, for him, wouldn't be all that long in the future, come to think of it) or letting Sam help. However enticing both options were, Dean finally chose the second one.

From there on it pretty much was a blur until he found himself, face down, on his bed, panting and shivering, his back on fire, chest heaving. He was pretty sure that none of his ribs were broken from Joe's little beating – the kid must have gotten soft in his old days – but it still didn't feel all that great to lie on his stomach, to be honest.

He was aware of drinking something stale and bitter tasting, voicing his disagreement even though he knew it probably was something meant to help him with the pain. While obediently finishing up whatever concoction Sam had brewed for him, he tried to determine what sort of painkillers they'd still had in their first aid kit, coming up with a frighteningly short, terribly inappropriate list of drugs that did nothing to let him hope of any true relief from his torments.

It was hard to hear anything over the rushing of blood in his ears, but Dean was faintly aware of the sounds of his brother – always his brother, bustling about the room, getting their first aid kit, no doubt, towels and water.

Dean tried to go over the list of things he'd need in his head, trying to busy himself with that simple task to not think about everything else for a minute, but failing miserably.

He really had no idea how bad it really was. It _felt_ bad, sure, but still…nothing a couple of stitches couldn't fix, right?

Dean was aware of Sam talking to him, then suddenly his voice changed and he spoke more rapidly, urgently, his voice slightly muffled as he apparently turned away from Dean.

On the phone? Who was he calling? Surely he wasn't going to…

"Sam…no ambulance…right?" Dean rasped out, trying to make his voice sound stronger than he felt …trying to persuade Sam that he really didn't need to go to a hospital. He didn't - he didn't want to spent any time there, away from his brother. Not with what little time he…they'd still left. Together. Unfortunately Dean's demand sounded more like a plea than the intended order, in the end.

"What…Dean, I'm talking to Bobby. He's on his way to help us… Just hold on for a second, alright? I'll be right with you."

Sam's paw quickly brushed Dean's forehead, and he wrenched his eye open, trying to capture a glance of his brother but he apparently was too slow, merely glimpsing a shirt-clad part of Sam's retreating back as he once again pressed the phone to his ear.

"Yeah…no, he's pretty bad. He's got a fever already…his back looks a mess… He won't tell me…"

Sam's voice was fading in and out and Dean wasn't sure if it was because of the fever or the way Sam was moving around the room, assembling supplies, no doubt. Never once stopping, a bustling source of energy that almost made Dean's teeth ache.

"Sam…need to calm down…relax. Have a drink…or something…" Dean rasped but didn't find it in him to open his eyes to look if his little brother had heard him.

Sam's voice was drawing closer again and Dean could hear him say goodbye to Bobby, then felt the bed dip as his brother sat down next to him, dumping an armload of stuff on the mattress of the bed next to his'.

"Hey…how are you doing?" Low and soothing – no doubt plastering on that worry-creased forehead and sympathetic eyes to go right along with the voice – Dean could practically _see_ his brother's face before his eyes even though he still had them tightly closed for now.

"Peachy…really enjoyed…our little hiking trip. Think we should get…matching hiking gear…and some of those fancy walking sticks?"

Dean tried to chuckle, ended up coughing instead, and promptly felt new waves of pain roll over and through him at the motion. Sam's hand suddenly settled on his shoulder, the one not a knot of pain, the one _just _strained from the bonds, huge palm cool and reassuring against his feverish hot skin, even through the fabric of his t-shirt which still hung in tatters on his body.

"Easy, Dean…just breathe, alright, slow and steady…"

Dean worked his eyes open, looked at his brother through swollen lids, his vision slightly blurry. Sam looked so…grown up - funny how Dean never realized how much the kid had grown. And not just grown in the physical sense, that had been pretty hard to miss - but he had grown up, no doubt, somewhere between Dean carrying him out of that house, nestled safely in his arms, and now. And Dean would be damned to know when exactly it had happened, without him really realizing it.

"Look at you – all grown up…" he smiled goofily, saw Sam raise his eyebrows in both worry and amusement at the statement.

"Yeah…happened a while ago, actually… Listen, Dean. Bobby is on his way. He was on a hunt a couple of towns over – might take him another hour or so, but he'll be here soon."

Dean blinked his response, not capable of voicing his consent since his tongue seemed to take on enormous proportions inside his mouth, swelling up impossibly and sticking to his palate like a giant lump of liquorice all of a sudden. He swallowed convulsively, trying to lick his lips, groaning in discomfort.

"Tongue swelling up?" Sam asked, that look of slight amusement still there, accompanied closely by the worried frown still as his hand travelled up Dean's neck, running through his short hair with an amount of affection that made Dean choke up even more. Again he just nodded his consent miserably.

"That's the fever, dude…you always think that when you have a fever. Remember that one time, when you swallowed a whole bucket of ice-chips, thinking that it would help the swelling to go down and instead left you with no feeling in your tongue and a sore throat for, like, a week?"

Dean thought real hard but couldn't, for the life of him remember said incident. Maybe Sam was just having a little fun on his behalf here? Which wasn't really fair – making fun of an injured man and all.

Dean only realized that Sam had started to cut off his shirt, then got to work on the makeshift bandages underneath when he began to pull the bandages away from the wounds, a mixture of dried and fresh blood making the fabric stick to the wound with a vengeance.

"G'damnit…Sammy…"

"Sorry…sorry, Dean…just…"

Something wet and warm was placed on his back and Dean remembered that Sam was probably trying to soak the bandages so they'd let go of his skin easier.

The only problem was, that it didn't make it hurt much less, in the end.

He thought he did a pretty good job in keeping his breathing steady and it was only until he realized that he wasn't breathing, _at all_, when he registered that he wasn't doing such a bang up job there, really.

Sam's hand, soft and warm and cool and reassuring all at the same time were simply hurting him, sending ripples of pain all over and through him.

Dean heard Sam take in a sharp breath when finally his back seemed to be laid free, the whole extend of the injury no doubt only now dawning on him.

"Shit…"

Another burning hot sensation clawed into him as Sam started cleaning the slash, starting at his right shoulder, gently dabbing away and Dean was gasping, biting back the sounds of terror that he could feel building up inside, vowing not to let them out. The mixture of water and peroxide Sam used seeped between the open lips of the wound like molten lava, searing into his very core.

Dean buried his face in the pillow, tried to muffle the cries of pain that were pounding against the door of his sanity to be let out, managed to weaken them down to a guttural moan instead.

He started humming, at least in his head – he couldn't be sure if any sound other than painful pants and breaths made it past his lips as Sam continued with his ministrations – choosing Metallica's _Enter Sandman_, for whatever reason. It worked, if only a little bit, but it did work. The pain receded to an insistent yet slightly more bearable background nuisance, one that Dean could deal with – he thought – for the moment.

Sam's voice was ever present, talking to him throughout every single minute of his torturous administrations, providing him with further distraction whenever the music in his head threatened to be drowned out by another bout of agony washing over him.

Just another minute. Then another. And another.

Because if he kept pretending that there was an end in sight, it wouldn't be as bad.

He hoped.

xxx

Sam was roaming the room, trying to assemble everything he was going to need to tend to Dean's injuries while at the same time speed dialling Bobby, heaving a sigh of relief when their old friend picked up after the first two rings.

"Hey, Bobby…"

"Where the hell have you been? I'm on my way over to Clancy as we speak. I've been trying to reach you for the past three hours, Sam."

The reproach and barely suppressed stress in his voice gave Sam pause for a bit.

"Reception was cut…I didn't…"

"Did you find your brother?" Bobby interrupted, and again Sam remembered how tense and stressed Bobby had been when he'd heard that they had split up.

"Yeah, about that…"

"What is it – you did find him, didn't you?"

OK, so this was getting more than a little strange now. First Dean acting…even more strange than usual and now Bobby…

"Uhm, Bobby…I found him but…he's been hurt, Bobby. A spirit… I don't really know what happened, he wouldn't tell me…"

Dean's voice startled Sam and he almost dropped the pile of towels he'd collected from the bathroom.

"Sam…no ambulance…right?" Dean's voice was rough and pained, making the sentence sound more like a question than the statement Sam was sure it had been intended to be.

Sam was over at his brother's bed with two long strides.

"What…Dean, I'm talking to Bobby. He's on his way to help us… Just hold on for a second, alright? I'll be right with you."

He reached down quickly to brush Dean's forehead, biting his lips at the heat already permeating his brother's skin, then turned around again, the phone once again clutched tightly to his ear.

"Damn it, Sam, talk to me…how badly is he hurt? What happened? Did he talk to you…did it have anything to do with that hunt you've been on?"

Again Sam was taken aback by the urgency in Bobby's voice, the sense of suspense that surrounded every single one of Bobby's sentences.

"Yeah…no, he's pretty bad. He's got a fever already… He got tied up, beaten and cut, or sliced …his back looks a mess… He won't tell me what happened – maybe he doesn't remember…"

Bobby's reply was once again cut short when Dean talked again, voice even fainter now, if that was at all possible.

"Sam…need to calm down…relax. Have a drink…or something…"

Damn…Sam really had to take care of his brother now…however much he wanted Bobby to clear up the mystery surrounding this hunt, he still needed to be with his brother more than anything.

Bobby seemed to have realized that Sam wasn't paying attention to him anymore.

"Listen, Sam, I'm almost there already…been on a hunt a couple of towns away from you, so I should make it there in about an hour. You guys staying at the motel in town?"

Sam barely had time to wonder how Bobby knew about the motel before he heard himself answering.

"No…no, Dean checked us into that campground on the edge of town – we're staying at cabin number 9. Bobby, I still need to know…"

"We'll talk about everything later, alright? You take care of him now and I'll be with you in no time. Make sure he knows that I'll have his hide if he does anything stupid till then…"

Sam had to smile despite himself, dropping onto the mattress next to Dean, dumping the supplies he'd gathered on the other bed.

"Yeah, thanks Bobby. We'll be waiting for you. See you in a bit."

Sam snapped the phone shut, turned towards Dean.

"Hey…how are you doing?"

Sam could feel Dean shuddering a little underneath his touch, but move towards him nonetheless, searching for the contact.

"Peachy…really enjoyed…our little hiking trip. Think we should get…matching hiking gear…and some of those fancy walking sticks?"

Dean chuckled, then coughed, tremors of pain raking through his body in the process, shaking his him the core. Sam placed a soothing hand on his brother's shoulder, pressing down just hard enough to let his brother know that he was there, that Dean was not alone in this. The shirt underneath his palm was torn and bloody, saturated with dust and grime. He really had to get a move on…

"Easy, Dean…just breathe, alright, slow and steady…"

Dean cracked an eye open, looked at him through bleary and slightly glazed over blown pupils.

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips and Sam knew that _something_ was coming, a remark probably not even remotely fitting the severity of the situation.

"Look at you – all grown up…"

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched involuntarily at the statement, amusement laced with worry as he recognized Dean's slightly slurred speech and unfocused eyes.

"Yeah…happened a while ago, actually… Listen, Dean, Bobby is on his way. He was on a hunt a couple of towns over – might take him another hour or so, but he'll be here soon."

Dean only blinked, and Sam could see him work his throat, his mouth, swallowing convulsively. He recognized the signs almost immediately. A lifetime of tending to his brother when he was sick or injured unfortunately gave him more experience than he'd have liked.

"Tongue swelling up?" he asked softly, running his hands soothingly up Dean's neck and through is sweat-soaked hair. Dean just nodded, radiating so much pain and misery, all amusement over the familiarity of his symptoms were sucked right out of Sam.

"That's the fever, dude…you always think that when you have a fever. Remember that one time, when you swallowed a whole bucket of ice-chips, thinking that it would help the swelling to go down and instead left you with no feeling in your tongue and a sore throat for, like, a week?"

Dean didn't answer, seemed to think about it hard though, his brow creased hard, breath low and forced.

Sam decided that this right now would be as a good a time as any to start with the treatment, hating it, despising the fact that he had to do it, that he had to hurt his own brother…but there was no way around it and waiting would not make things any easier. On either one of them.

He started cutting the shredded shirt and sodden bandages away from his brother's body, tried to be gentle as he had to peel some of the fabric away from Dean's skin, a sickening mixture of blood, dried and fresh, as well as sweat and grime practically making them cling to Dean's body like a desperate lover.

Dean's breath hitched, stuttered and a violent tremor raced through him as one of the more insistent pieces came lose, breaking open a large portion of the crusted over wound again.

"G'damnit…Sammy…"

"Sorry…sorry, Dean…just…"

Sam grabbed one of the towels from the nightstand, one he'd soaked in a bucket of warm water, and placed it gently over the first part of the injury, starting at Dean's right shoulder to about mid-spine. He waited until the water had soaked into the skin before carefully pulling it away again, wiping some of the liquefied blood away from his brother's tortured back.

_Oh god…_

He realized that Dean was holding his breath, not breathing, trying to work through the pain Sam was most definitely causing him – already. And he had barely begun his administrations.

One look at the extend of the wound made it frighteningly clear that there was a lot more pain to follow.

"Shit…"

The gash was deep, starting at the back of Dean's right shoulder. Something sharp had apparently dug into the fleshy part of muscle there, actually ripping a piece of skin and flesh out as it had been dragged down, practically bisecting Dean's back. The wound ran deep, all the way across Dean's back, between his shoulder blades and down to his left hip, opposite the shoulder it had started. Reaching the hip the thing that had caused this had once again dug deeper, slicing even deeper into the flesh of his brother's side and hip, again taking a large chunk of meat out as it was ripped from his body.

Parts of the wound still leaked blood, dark and sluggish marks trailing down the valley of his spine, collecting in the hollow of his lower back right atop the hem of his jeans. Shoulder and hip still bled more profusely, but the whole length of the gash looked angry and swollen, the edges of exposed skin curling outwards painfully.

There was no way…no way Sam was going to be able to fix this. Not on his own, not without professional help, not without some ass-kicker drugs to zone Dean out good. And even then, there was no way to avoid infection – hell, the way it looked, the way Dean's body already was shaking with feverish chills, infection had already latched on with a death-grip.

Damn it.

What had he even been thinking? Whatever had bitten him that he'd thought he'd be able to take care of this? He'd fallen victim to his own stubbornness, his _need_ to keep his brother close, to not relinquish whatever feeble hold, the faint allusion of control he still had on him for the months to come. The last months of Dean's life. He just hoped that, in his unwillingness to let go of his brother now, he hadn't done just the opposite in the end.

The muscles in Dean's back jumped underneath Sam's fingertips, goose bumps chasing themselves like ants over the damp flesh.

This would require…god, Sam couldn't even begin to count how many stitches it would take to close the wound – he'd never dealt with anything like this. And before he could even start to think about that, he'd need to clean the wound properly.

"This is going to hurt like hell…" he mumbled, more to himself than Dean, and still he stopped for a second when no reply came from his brother.

He was still breathing, if a little ragged, but still breathing. So he was trying to space out again – no surprise there. It was Dean's way of dealing with pain, physical or emotional, had been so all his life. It was a tactic he'd perfected over the years, lots and lots of training in that category, unfortunately had helped him fine-tune it to a level that Sam didn't even want to think about.

The moment the peroxide hit Dean's back and seeped into the wound, Sam knew that no amount of humming or counting or locking himself away in a dark corner of his mind was going to save his brother from the harsh reality of this amount of pain. The more than insufficient crushed up pills Sam had managed to fill into his brother would do nothing, absolutely nothing in ways of making this any easier on his brother.

"What the hell was I thinking?" Sam muttered to himself, careful to keep his voice low, determined not to let Dean hear.

Dean went rigid as rivers of light pink blood bubbled and rolled down his ribcage and sides, his skin practically rippling as nerve-ending seized and convulsed. He drew in a sharp breath, held it for so long Sam thought he might choke himself when he finally let it out again with a heart-seizing groan, each and every muscle in his body pulled taut as if ready to snap. Sam almost feared that he'd jump up and make a run for it, feared that Dean would manage to draw away from Sam's hands that were only trying to help and yet instilled the greatest pain possible at the moment.

But all Dean did was still again, the tension never leaving his body as sweat broke out from every available pore of his skin, rolling thick beads of perspiration to mingle with water, peroxide and blood.

If it wasn't for the harsh breathing, the barely suppressed moans accompanying each and every exhale, Sam would have thought that Dean had passed out. Which probably would have been the preferred option, by all means. Only of course Dean would never make it that easy – not on Sam and certainly not on himself.

Sam started talking then, talking about everything and nothing at all, recounting small memories of their collective past, of hunts long past and still not forgotten. He didn't know if Dean even heard or listened, but it didn't matter at the moment. It was a force of habit that served to not only soothe Dean but Sam himself, to take his own mind off the gruesome task that was about to come. A task that Sam was everything but sure he'd be able to finish.

Sam basically rubbed the skin on his hands raw with the sterile alcohol-wipes they kept in their first aid kit, flexing his finger compulsively for about a dozen times before picking up the hated curved needle and coarse black thread. He barely managed to hold on to the items as he leaned closer over his brother, trying to determine the best way to start this. The wound on his shoulder gaped frighteningly and Sam had to work hard on swallowing the bile ready to rise in his throat before reaching forward, pulling the edges of the wound together with one hand while aiming the needle with the other.

If Sam had been a religious man – and he was talking religious beyond the usual nightly prayers that people used for a sorry excuse of spiritualism – he would have prayed. Prayed for his brother to pass out, to become immune to pain all of a sudden, for a miraculous appearance of a shot of morphine in their tattered kit that he could use to take some of this away from his brother. He'd have prayed for some of the pain to transfer to him, even, anything to make this easier on Dean – anything at all to help ease the burden.

But the truth was, that Sam had stopped believing some time ago now. Not that he was the full fledged atheist that his brother was, but he had stopped praying every night, had stopped believing that somehow, things would turn out alright in the end. That something or someone was still there and watching over them and giving all this reason – purpose. He'd stopped believing unquestioningly when Dean had traded his soul for his little brother's, most likely, because, honestly now, what kind of god would let anyone, ever, make a decision like that?

Sam took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, grounding himself. For some weird reason there was a voice inside his head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his brother's, telling him not to worry, everything was going to be alright. Sam was going to do this, he was going to handle this – Dean trusted him. Telling him that, once this was over, they were going to get Sam laid, finally, find him a pretty blonde that would massage that tension right out of his shoulders, out of other parts of his body, too.

Sam couldn't help but smile, his fingers relaxing automatically as he mentally punched his brother in the shoulder, chiding him for having his mind in the gutter again. Trust Dean to ease his mind and conscience even in a situation like this, even when not saying one word.

"God, this is going to be one hell of a long night dude…" Sam whispered, and thought he could _feel_ Dean tense up even more, preparing himself.

"I'm sorry…so sorry, man. Just don't hold this against me, alright?"

And with that Sam dug the needle into the swollen flesh of Dean's shoulder, his mind shutting off for the time being, placing the first stitch of many, many more to follow.

OoOoOoO

tbc

_AN:_

_Ok, so...please don't think I'm mad or anything... I'm not a doctor or a nurse or whatever, so I know this is way out of line, but we're not seriously talking about this story being believable, are we? And in terms of not sending Dean to a hospital - I wanted the boys to take care of that themselves - I tried to explain a bit in the story - apparently this whole hunt is something very personal to them - together with the whole back-story of the deal - so they needed the privacy and support of each other they wouldn't have in a hospital. I know it doesn't make much sense, and if you disagree, I'm very sorry. I hope you'll still manage to enjoy it, though. And I will get them help - but you'll have to come back to read the next chapter..._

_Alright, I hope you liked it and it wasn't too much._

_I'd love to hear what you think, as usual, itmeans so freaking much to me... Your reviews always make me smile and take some of that ever-present tension away from me whenever I post something and fear that I make a complete ass of myself. I'm beginning to believe that I'll never have an easy time posting, I'll always beat myself up...but I'll keep trying, at least for a while!_

_Thank you all so much for reading and giving me some of your time and I hope to hear from you!_

_thanks and take care!!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 6**

Sam was working on autopilot, never stopping, never wavering, his mind shut down to not even give himself time to think about what exactly he was doing.

He'd always hated doing stitches, more so than he did, say, pop in a shoulder or even set a bone, on the few occasions he'd had to do that. Usually it would be fingers and toes that they handled themselves, arms and legs too sensible and important to risk permanent defect due to sloppy treatment. Even though it did sound contradictory, but setting bones was a walk in the park compared to doing stitches.

Those took longer, drew blood. Hurt more, too, for a longer period of time. And it was the knowledge of inflicting further pain to whoever he was treating that made this so goddamn hard on Sam.

Ironically, Sam had been the one doing the main share of stitching up gashing wounds on both his dad and Dean, ever since he'd gotten old enough to know about the family business and actively start playing a part in it. Since both Dean and John had refused to let him come along on hunts for an awfully long time, Sam had been left to deal with the gruesome aftermath more often than not, being there when they both came back, beaten and bloody, requiring medical attention they couldn't administer themselves anymore.

Sam had been quick to learn that in order to play his part in the family dynamics, he'd have to take on task he'd rather have stayed away from, all his life. Hunting and treating injuries.

He'd had plenty of opportunities to practice his skills, unfortunately, watching Dean tend to their father at first, letting Dean show him how to do it, adding his own research on how to do it _and_ making sure that the scar formation would be kept to a minimum. Because that was one thing Dean never cared about, unfortunately, when it came to their dad or himself – he only was careful when it came to patching Sam back together – later. When Sam had become more actively involved. Because no matter how bad off he himself would be, Dean would never, ever let anyone else take care of Sam's injuries, not Bobby, not even their father. Not as long as he was still able to do it.

Dean had always been the one making sure Sam was taken care of by himself before letting anyone even take as much as a look at him.

Sam couldn't help the memories of hundreds of injuries running like a sick and ironic gag-reel through his mind, no matter how hard he tried. At least it served to help him distract himself from the task at hand, though.

It helped him shut himself off so good, he didn't even manage to read the signs he'd have no trouble reading otherwise, if he'd have been on the goddamn lookout, like he really should have been.

It took a near shout of pain from his brother, a ground out, painfully distorted abomination of Sam's name that finally made Sam stop, made him hear.

For the first time in minutes he heard Dean ground out his name between clenched teeth, his voice so thick and gravely, like water washing over a dried out riverbed, it made Sam crumble inwardly. Within the beat of a second he became aware of his own hands again, as they suddenly started to tremble uncontrollably, unable to hold on to the thread and needle anymore and it took all his willpower to finish up the last stitch he'd already started, needle still embedded in tender and swollen flesh before he was able to give in to his brother's desperate plea.

"Sammy…stop. Just…gimme a second…just a second…"

Dean had never, ever before asked Sam to stop any administration, no matter how gruesome, ever before.

Looking at his handiwork now, Sam could see where the difference lay this time.

A row of stitches, black, coarse thread against feverishly red and sweaty skin, a couple even underneath the surface, to sew together the deeper layers of the cut on his shoulder. A ragged line from the top of his right shoulder down to the middle of his back by now. And still Sam was far from being done. Still about as long as he'd already finished still to go. And that was just his back.

So far Sam hadn't even ventured to check for any other injuries that he'd need to tend to.

With the sudden snap into reality Sam became aware of his own body as well, the tremors in his fingers, feeling the ripples of pain and exhaustion racing up from his brother, right through his own numb fingertips where they lay against fever-heated skin.

"Fuck"

Dean's breathing was ragged, clipped, his left hand balled into a fist so tight, the veins and sinews in his forearm stood out visibly. He had the fist buried into the pillow underneath his head, face angled sideways a little so he could still breathe while clearly attempting to keep his face averted as much as possible, to keep it away from Sam.

Sam could see his pulse beating rapidly in his neck, saw his nostrils flaring desperately.

God, he looked as if he was going to pass out any second. His eyes were tightly closed, and even though Sam felt the desperate urge to beg Dean to open them, to look at him, just for a second, at the same time he was thankful that they remained closed for now. Because he knew what he'd see there, and he really didn't want to - not right now - see his brother for who he really was.

For now he was happy pretending that Dean really was the rock that Sam wanted him to believe he was, that he was invincible and that some minor scratch like this was not going to get him down. Sam knew that he'd get confronted with the harsh reality, the falseness of his wish only too soon, but right now he needed to play pretend as much as his brother did – for both their sakes.

"Just…gimme a second…S'my…" Dean once again ground out and Sam could see how he worked on calming down his breathing, how he fought to regain his composure.

Which, according to Sam, he'd never lost. He doubted that anyone would have been able to hold on as long and as much as Dean had.

"Yeah…sure. God…I'm sorry. Is there anything…anything you need?"

Dean took a moment to answer, Sam could see him work his jaw, easing the taut muscles there before he cracked an eye open, a slit of too bright and yet somehow dulled over green peering up at Sam. He almost winced back at the sight.

"Got…a pound of morphine ready…?"

It probably was intended as a joke, only Sam didn't feel at all like laughing.

"Sorry man…there's nothing…I only got a bunch of pills, but I guess they won't to much good…"

Dean's eye slipped shut again and he turned his face into the pillow some more, breathing his way through what appeared to be another wave of pain washing over him. Sam found himself holding on to his brother's shoulder by the time Dean came down again, the shoulder not sewed together like a Frankenstein double, gently kneading at bunched up muscle and trembling skin.

"Guess I'll…take the chance…" Dean finally rasped out and Sam nodded automatically, fighting the urge to keep holding on, tearing himself away to practically dump all contents of his duffel on the bed next to the medical equipment in his rush to find the pills.

His hands were sweating and he needed to wipe them on his jeans before being able to grab the bottle, throwing it aside almost violently. This was insane. Absolutely insane. Those pills would do nothing, nothing at all to help with what Dean was going through at the moment. Sam was going to pack his brother up and drag him straight to a hospital – now. No amount of pleading and cursing and threatening would change Sam's mind anymore.

Suddenly a knock on the door almost made Sam slip off the bed, he was so startled by the sound. One look at Dean told him that his brother had heard too, tensing up even more, hand sneaking underneath his pillow to no doubt search for his knife, attempting to brace himself, to defend them from any possible attacker lurking behind the still closed door.

"Stay down, Dean. I've got it."

Sam grabbed his gun from underneath his own pillow where he'd stashed it when coming back to the room, released the safety and went to the door, one hand on the knob, his back to the wall. Another knock, this time more insistent, then a gruff voice from outside had him sighing with relief and he dropped his gun almost instantly, barely putting the safety back on before he had the door open in one swift pull.

"Bobby…"

Bobby's face was set harder than usual, his eyes seizing Sam up before whipping past him to find Dean.

Alright, so no small talk then – not that Sam would have cared…

"How is he doing?"

Sam took a step back to let Bobby in and turned towards Dean's bed, hand still gripping the gun like a lifeline. Bobby brushed past him, immediately making his way over to the bed.

"Fuck this…Dean, what the hell were you thinking?"

Sam had to take a step closer, sidestepping Bobby until he saw that Dean had his eyes open again, gaze trained on Bobby with surprising clarity. They just looked at each other for an endless couple of seconds, something between them that Sam didn't get, didn't understand. He was just about to intervene when Dean gasped, squeezed his eyes shut, back basically arching into the mattress as something akin to a seizure shook him, made him basically crawl up towards the headboard of the bed to simply escape the pain.

Sam was by his brother's side in a flash, gun dropped to the floor as he scrambled onto the bed, attempting to hold Dean still and stop him from further harming himself with any inconsiderate movement.

Bobby was thrown into action just as fast, basically grabbing Dean's left arm and holding in immobile, pinning Dean down with his hands and talking – talking to him, trying to pull him out of his misery.

Sam met Bobby's eyes over his brother's trembling back, one look enough for both of them to know that they had to do something, anything to help him or else he wouldn't be able to pull through this.

"What did you give him?" Bobby asked, eyes flicking briefly to the row of stitches already adorning Dean's back, pupils widening minutely before going blank again, focused on the task at hand. Sam could have kissed him for his unquestioning support right then and there.

"I didn't…we don't have anything. Just some pills... I was going to…"

"You should have brought him straight to the hospital." Bobby glared and Sam felt the pang of guilt at what he'd done deepen impossibly.

"I know…I know. I was just…I couldn't… I was going to take him now."

"And explain this how?" Bobby asked, eyebrows raised as he indicated the stitches already adorning Dean's back.

"I'll think of something." Sam spat indignantly, wincing as soon as the words had left his mouth.

Bobby looked at him and his eyes softened again. He nodded to himself, folded his lips against his teeth before suddenly getting up again. For an insane second, Sam was afraid Bobby was just going to walk out on them – even though deep inside he _knew_ Bobby'd never to that.

"Hold him for a second, I think I still have something in the car…"

Bobby was out the door and back in under a minute's time, carrying a small paper-wrapped package.

"Knew I still had this in the cooler. It's something akin to morphine – snatched it from a clinic a couple of days ago – some antibiotics, too. We can use those to set up an IV-line later. Thought it would come in handy one day… Didn't think it would be this soon, though."

Sam thought he might have sobbed out at the sight of a small syringe, filled with a clear liquid in Bobby's hands.

Dean's eyes had opened again at some point, bleary eyes following Bobby's movements.

"Sam…?"

"Yeah, Dean right here."

"Tell me…that's really Bobby…standing there…holding a syringe in his hand…not some fever clouded…dream I'm making up here…"

Sam had to smile despite himself, scooting over so Dean could see him without having to strain his neck.

"Yeah – that's really Bobby. Guess you'd come up with a prettier nurse if it really was a dream, now, wouldn't you?"

Bobby huffed something that Sam chose to ignore, giving Dean a pointed look that he was sure was much appreciated, even though Dean didn't find it in him to return it at the moment.

"That the good stuff?" he asked hoarsely, a thick bead of sweat rolling off his forehead to lazily sneak its way down towards his mouth, catching on the rim of his upper lip.

"As good as it will get at the moment, kid. Now try to relax, let your brother and me take over from here." Bobby grumbled softly.

Dean seemed reluctant, for whatever reason, unable to relax his muscles as Bobby slipped the needle underneath Dean's skin, flinching at the hot feel of it before carefully emptying the syringe.

They had to wait then, Sam fidgeting nervously while never letting go of Dean's shoulder, never breaking contact until finally, after what felt like an eternity, but in reality was merely 5 minutes, tops, his brother's brow smoothed out a little. The muscles in arm and shoulder were still bunched, but less forcefully so, the tight pull of his lips slackening as he gave in to the pull of the drug, letting it drag him under.

He did rear up one last time though, pulled lids open in a motion that made it seem like they weighed a ton and latched slightly unfocused eyes onto Bobby. Sam felt a pang of jealousy surging through him, but managed to quench the sentiment right in its beginnings. This was Bobby they were talking about here – _Bobby_. The one coming to their help the minute they'd asked, never even asking why. The only family they had left, apart from each other.

"Bobby…"

"Yeah, right here, Dean. Why don't you try to relax and we'll take care of you for now, alright? There's plenty of time later where you'll get your ass whipped for being so damn stupid…"

"Bobby, listen…it wasn't…I mean it was, but not really…I don't…I didn't… Sam doesn't…" Dean drifted, having trouble forming a coherent sentence.

Sam saw first confusion, then realization chase themselves over Bobby's face and he could have sworn that Bobby eyes flickered towards Sam for the beat of a second before settling on his brother again.

Now, what the hell was this all about? First Dean getting all mysterious, then Bobby joining right in – were they keeping something from him? Another secret?

_Oh, by the way, Sam…we decided that now that Dean's going to hell – we might as well kill you too, get it over with. Better not take any more risks with you… _

Sam shook his head, chiding himself. When had he become so damn paranoid? Well, maybe those two not wanting to tell him that Dean had made a deal for Sam's life had helped…that and all the other secrets that had been thrown at him in the past couple of years…

"Bobby…what…?" Sam started, but was cut short when Bobby waved a hand at him, shushing him, goddamn it, his eyes still locked with Dean's.

Sam felt another pang of irritation, then jealousy swamp him as Dean relaxed under Bobby's gaze, his hands. Of course, he did have help – those drugs working through Dean's system, pulling him under, and still… it was supposed to be Sam's place and nobody else's, especially now. Sam could feel the squint forming between his eyebrows again – _the_ squint, as Dean liked to call it – giving him away to everyone who cared to look. And god, did he want Bobby to look now. Sam hated being left out – he didn't _deserve_ to be left out.

"Listen, Dean…right now all you need to worry about is yourself for a change, alright? Everything else we can take care of later. You let Sam and me patch you back up, then we talk about this for as long as you like, alright?"

Sam felt an involuntary smirk form on his lips and he wasn't fast enough to stop it.

Yeah, right – Dean wanting to talk about anything – _that_ would be a first.

But Bobby seemed to be oblivious to the pun, as was Dean, who blinked heavily drooping eyelids sluggishly. Lines of pain were still visible on his face yet smoothing out a little, the drugs taking at least some of the immediate pain away and forcing his muscles to relax, leaving him unable to fight the pull of sleep or unconsciousness much longer.

"Okay, Dean?"

"'kay…just don't…go after 'im 'lone…"

"Yeah, right – might have listened to that advice yourself, ya idgit. You shut your mouth and go to sleep now, Dean, that's an order. I don't want to hear another word from you till we're done here…"

Dean didn't even manage to nod anymore as his eyes finally slipped shut and he let the drugs do their work.

Both hunters slumped in relief when Dean drifted off. They knew it was far from over and still it was so much easier if they didn't have to deal with Dean face on, didn't need to watch him suffer any more than absolutely necessary. It was bad enough that they couldn't even take him to a hospital without fearing he'd spend the rest of his year in prison…

Sam barely was able to let go of his brother's shoulder, stupidly marvelling at the heat that already emanated from his skin, the small tremors of pain still chasing over it unconsciously.

"Sam – why don't you let me finish this?"

Bobby's voice was low and soft, gently pulling Sam out of his stupor.

Sam started, quickly drawing a hand through his hair and down his neck. God, he was exhausted – beyond belief exhausted. All he wanted to do was to lie down and sleep forever. But of course that wasn't an option, not as long as Dean was still out – not as long as his back…

"No…no I'll do it. It's alright, I'll do it. I'm fine."

Sam reluctantly let go of Dean, thinking that his brother shifted slightly when their contact parted, that he moaned just a little and tried to follow his touch, to not let it go. Of course, it probably was wishful thinking only, but maybe…maybe…

Sam washed his hands again, wiped them down with alcohol and watched Bobby do the same, wordlessly assembling the medical supplies, laying them out within easy reach.

The first stitch again was the hardest, and again Sam shut himself off, placing stitch after stitch in red and swollen flesh.

Bobby handed him whatever he needed, helped him hold Dean still when he started twitching and writhing, when the pain seeped into his subconscious despite him being more or less unaware. Somehow Sam feared that he did notice though, that each and every insertion of the needle in his skin did register, after all.

They almost ran out of medical thread and by the time Sam was finished sewing his brother back together he was pretty much dead on his feet.

Bobby tied off the last stitch for him, Dean's side having needed a whole bunch to close the gaping wound. Luckily enough there wasn't a piece of flesh missing after all, the open gash just making it look like it and still Sam wasn't sure that it would be enough. Dean was moaning under his breath, every exhale grating on Sam's nerves as he listened to his brother fight his way through a haze of pain that didn't let him go even in unconsciousness.

Sam found himself staring at his hands in dumb fascination, all that blood staining his fingers, a sight far too familiar and yet something that Sam would never, ever get used to. Bobby took it upon himself to cover the wound in antibiotic ointment and layers of gauze, starting to prepare the small bag of antibiotics he'd brought to set up a drip. With soft but determined emphasis Bobby finally sent Sam off to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Sam stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflexion for what seemed like an eternity.

When exactly had he stopped recognising his own face? Those lines in his forehead were pretty much gouged in there, Dean was right, the set of his jaw hard and frozen solid.

He thought he got it then, right this moment - standing in the bathroom of a backwoods cabin, his brother's blood still clinging to his skin like permanent marker –thought he got why Dean tried so hard, so fucking hard, to get Sam to lighten up. Because if this was the face Dean had to look at, day in day out, throughout the last fucking year of his life…

Sam didn't think he'd be able to bear Dean looking like this, ever. He'd do his hardest to get him to smile again, laugh again. He'd try everything to get his brother back.

Sam dreaded going back into the room, dreaded seeing his brother still unconscious, still in pain. But at the same time he didn't want to spend another minute away from him, fearing that every minute spent apart would be one too many.

He scrubbed his hands till his own skin was red and raw, splashed water on his face and raked wet fingers through his hair until it was slicked back from his face again. Another look in the mirror told him that he looked everything but refreshed, but it would have to make do.

With a sigh he went back into the room to take over his post at Dean's side – and confront Bobby about this ominous secret they'd been keeping from him.

OoOoOoO

tbc

_AN:_

_I know this chapter's a little shorter than usual, but - you know, real life and all that... The next chapter will be longer, I think. I'll try my best and get it up a little ahead of time, too, since I'm away next weekend and I'm not sure I'll have internet-access in some cabin in the alps or wherever the hell else it is I'm going (I probably should check where we're going, but my friend told me she new exactly where it was - and I'm a trusting kinda person!). After the past weeks' stress at work I just need a couple of days off._

_And I have to say this real quick - I know this story is a bit..you know, I've said it before. I never intended to offend anyone - certainly don't want to lose any readers over this. I hope I'll be able to make it up to those who think I've taken this too far, if not in the chapters to come, then maybe with the next story, should I ever post one. _

_Last but not least - thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews. I know I said this numerous times before and it's getting kind of old, but I really appreciate every single one of them and cherish them like hardly anything else these days!_

_So, I hope you find the time to drop me a review, if you like!_

_Thanks and take care!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 7**

"You need to tell me what this is all about, Bobby – I don't know what the two of you are keeping from me, but you better spill it now. If this…what if something happened to Dean because I wasn't in the loop here? What if Dean…"

Sam was alternating between looking pissed and so absolutely helpless, it was almost comical. Bobby could see the emotions flickering over the kids face so fast, it was hard to keep track on which one had the upper hand at the moment.

Bobby ran a hand over his face, slumped down on the chair he'd pulled next to Dean's bed, watching the young hunter who lay restlessly, groaning and writhing in his sleep.

He knew he'd given Dean a promise.

Sure, it had been a long time ago – a fucking lifetime. And things had changed till then, had changed so tremendously, it was hard to even keep track anymore. And it _had_ been a stupid promise all along, one he hadn't been happy to give in the first place, but in the end Dean had prevailed and gotten Bobby to make said promise. He'd always had too soft a spot for those boys, Dean especially, and he'd paid the price then and many times since.

Somehow, Bobby had thought that over the years Dean had told Sam, had told him what happened. Because there was nothing, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to feel self-conscious about. But then, of course, he was talking about Dean here – _Mr. I blame myself for everything that goes wrong Winchester_, no matter how stupid or unfounded the blame he was heaping onto his own shoulders was.

And Sam was right, it was dangerous. In their kind of work, not knowing something like this could very well get you or your partner into trouble. If it had been anybody else but Dean, Bobby would have never let him get through with it. But the stubborn jerk had always known how to press Bobby's buttons – Sam's puppy dogs were nothing compared to Dean's _strong but beaten and wounded_ look – that one always made Bobby cave in in the end.

As if Dean sensed that Bobby was staring at him, wrecking his brain as to which one of those boys he should betray now, he started moaning, grinding his teeth as he hissed out a pained whimper while trying to turn his head on the pillow. His fingers dug into the sheets so hard, Bobby thought bones might break any second.

Sam lowered himself onto the mattress next to his brother, a soothing hand on Dean's neck, massaging at bulked up, angrily rolling muscle, skin twitching and shifting like a living thing was crawling underneath. Only seconds after his brother made contact though, Dean gave a stuttering sigh and stilled again, at least for the moment.

It almost broke Bobby's heart to see how those two were tuned in on each other so finely, they'd react to just the slightest touch, the mere feel of the other being close by.

"Bobby…please. I have to know…I just have to."

Bobby sighed heavily, leaned back in his chair.

Dean was _so_ going to have his ass for this. On the other hand…those two were responsible for about three quarters of the white hair sprouting on his head – so he was just going to make them pay for at least some of it.

"You'll thank me one day…" Bobby mumbled towards Dean, then turned to Sam who looked at him with that suffering look, eyebrows raised slightly at the quiet interchange.

"Just so you know – Dean is not going to be happy about us having this conversation."

Sam just raised his eyebrow higher, gave Bobby his "_and I care about this why?" _look.

Yeah, Bobby should have figured that much.

"Ok then, where do we start this… um… Don't know if you remember – the summer the two of you spent at my house. It has to have been some…13 years ago, I guess. Dean was 16, I think – you barely out of your diapers…"

Sam smirked, huffed a laugh.

"The two of you could make money in comedy…honestly now." he grumbled.

Bobby couldn't help but smile himself, then got serious again.

"So, 13 years ago – ring any bell?"

"Don't know…we spent so many summers at your place…back until…"

"Back until that summer, 13 years ago – right…"

That caused Sam to raise both eyebrows in a mock imitation of Dean's trademark one.

"Alright…that, somehow…still doesn't really ring any bell…"

"You guys had been living in Eastern Montana for a while, went to school for a couple of weeks, the usual deal. Your dad went on hunts, took Dean along on occasion, left the two of you to fend for yourselves otherwise…"

Sam shook his head.

"Sorry to tell you Bobby, but that description fits pretty much every single town or city we ever stayed in."

"Yeah, well, think again Sam. Let's say, this town we're in right now – Clancy - that sounds familiar to you at all?"

Bobby thought he could see Sam tense a little, saw Dean immediately reacting to his brother's change in posture as he once again groaned and shifted on the bed.

"I'm not sure…"

"Alright, then…Clancy – you guys stayed here for, I'd say about three months or four at the most. You stayed at the ratty motel all the way across town – nice old lady managing the joint, you might remember her. You guys went to school, went on the occasional hunt. Dean provided food and stuff when your dad stayed gone for longer than planned – nothing out of the ordinary. Until one day…"

"…Dean got hurt." Sam suddenly blurted out.

So he had it now. About time. With all that smartness being tucked away in that giant head and still it sometimes took him forever to figure out the simplest things.

"God…I can't… I can't believe I forgot. He didn't come home from school - dad was so pissed. I tried to stay out of his way all night. And then, hours later, he was found beaten half to death in the middle of the night on some road in the mountains…"

Bobby nodded, let Sam find his own memories. It didn't look like it was a lot of fun.

"Shit – how could I _forget_? He was hurt so bad, Bobby…he had to stay in the hospital for weeks. Dad wouldn't let me see him for days – thought I didn't know that he was pretty much fighting for his life. And then, when they finally let me see him he was…he…"

Dean started writhing more violently, little gasps of pain rolling out between slightly parted lips.

Bobby leaned forward.

Sam went on undeterred.

"He never told us what happened – said he didn't remember. I stayed with him – at the hospital - I remember he took forever to get better, he was hurt so bad, Bobby. And then…"

His eyes suddenly got hard, and Bobby had no doubt as to whether or not Sam remembered everything now.

"Dad left. he simply up and left. The moment Dean was even _remotely_ over the hill, he left. Told us he had a hunt to take care of and that he'd be back in a couple of days… But he never showed. So we called you."

"And I came and got you. Took you home with me." Bobby supplied quietly, trying to pull Sam down from his obvious high, not quite succeeding though.

Sam was more than rigid now, ready to jump up and pace, most likely. The only reason he still stayed put was his brother, moaning slightly on the bed next to him.

"What is this, Bobby? What aren't you telling me? Is this…this hunt now, Dean getting hurt - does it have anything to do with what happened back then? Do you know what did this to him? How do you know – he never told us…"

"He told _me_."

That again gave Sam pause, if only for a second.

"But he said…Dean _swore_ he didn't remember."

"Yeah…guess he was lying – bending the truth a little. Or maybe he really didn't, at first, but once it came back to him… Listen Sam, hear me out – Dean…it wasn't anything supernatural that did that to him."

At that Sam's head snapped back as if he'd been hit.

"Wait, what? What do you…what are you talking about?" True and honest confusion flickered across the young man's features, distorting his face into an almost comical mask. If there was anything remotely funny about the whole situation at all.

But Bobby got the kid's confusion, he did, because _this_ was nothing they usually dealt with.

"Well, the only thing it can mean, really. Wasn't anything supernatural that tortured him– beat him up and goddamn whipped him raw. It was people – humans. Neither possessed nor anything else. Just plain people. Kids from his school, as a matter of fact. Complete nutcases, that's for sure, but nothing you could easily salt and burn or even exorcise for that matter."

"I don't understand, Bobby. Why wouldn't he tell us? Dad would have…"

"Well, as a matter of fact, he did, Sam. Dean did tell your dad, and apparently John was ready to go after those kids himself. But you know how it is…Dean didn't let him, didn't want to get _civilians_ involved, wherever the hell he got that from…"

Sam couldn't even smile at the underlying pun. He looked about ready to keel over there and Bobby braced himself to catch the kid should he really have to. No need to worry about his own poor back now – modern medicine was pretty good when it came to spinal-disc replacements nowadays, or so he'd heard.

"So he told dad…and he left anyways? Dad just up and left? What if those…they could have come after us, Bobby. They could have come after us and I wouldn't even have known. And Dean would have been too weak to fight them and I wouldn't have been able to protect him and…"

Sam's hand, which once had been flailing helplessly was now curling into a fist, knuckles turning white with the pressure.

"Listen Sam…" Bobby raised a placating hand, cutting the younger man off before he was going overboard. "I know it was wrong. Dean didn't tell me until much later, when you were at my place already, him healing up and all. He had those nightmares - you'll probably remember those - used to wake both of us up pretty much every single night, then pretending that nothing was wrong. So I confronted him about it. He swore up and down he was never, ever going to talk to me again if I told you, too. Doesn't mean I thought it was right to keep that to himself. And just so you know – I did give your dad hell about it. Once he came and picked you guys up, showing up on my doorstep about a month after I'd taken you in like nothing had happened, I told him my mind, loud and clear. Trust me, he didn't like it one bit."

Bobby was tired, so fucking tired. Those two drained all the strength out of him. Honestly now, having kids was about the most exhausting thing in the world, and those two weren't even his own.

Even though, Winchesters probably didn't really compare to regular kids…

Sam had finally lost his tension, his face buried in his hands as he sat hunched forward, no doubt trying to process everything he'd been told.

"That's why we never came back, after that, never went to see you again." he suddenly whispered, and when Bobby looked at him he could see the defeat in his eyes, his posture. All the anger washed away all of a sudden, giving way to utter weariness instead.

Bobby just nodded.

"Dad never told us…I mean I knew the two of you had a fight. Dad just grabbed us and left after– never explained why he was so angry at you. But we never stayed at your place again, Hell, we didn't see you till…"

Bobby got up, filled a glass of water from the sink and drained it in one go.

"Yeah, well…he didn't much like me telling him off for treating you the way he did. Didn't much like _anyone_ telling him what to do, for that matter, much less when it came to you guys. So, maybe it got a little bit out of hand, but I was so damn angry at him for abandoning you guys – I might have said some things I really shouldn't have said."

Bobby remembered that night all too clearly, and even though he wasn't going to admit to it, ever, he was now eve more sure than ever that he'd meant every single word he'd said. And there'd been plenty words he'd never even gotten to say out loud, too.

"Like, that he didn't really deserve us – that you'd rather have dad leave us with you and never come back again."

At that Bobby was the one raising an eyebrow.

"Didn't think you heard…"

Sam looked surprised himself.

"I didn't, not really. I remember now…I mean – we did overhear you fighting, Dean and me. You guys weren't particularly quiet. Dean made me leave when it all became a little too loud, took me out into the backyard so I wouldn't hear the rest of the conversation. I thought it was because Dean didn't want me to hear you guys yelling expletives at each other – he always was babying me, even when I was already knew most of the words from Dean himself..."

He smiled painfully before going on.

"Turns out he did it so I didn't find out what the two of you were fighting about."

"Yeah, well, what can I say…didn't quite work out the way I had it planned out." Bobby shrugged.

Sam started to say something, then bit his lip and looked away. Bobby could see him chew his bottom lip, trying to come up with something to say, searching his brain and apparently coming up empty for the time being.

Hell, it was a lot to process, especially now.

"So…this now, the recent disappearances – he thought it was them again, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did. Called me to check it out, but when the kids that did this back then came up clean…I guess he didn't really believe it. Didn't _want _to believe it most likely."

"So he decided to go check it out himself."

"I told him he shouldn't. Told him to wait for me, wait for backup. I mean – I didn't think it was them, and still. Looks like I'd been right."

"He told me it was a spirit…I know it was, since the chains that he was tied up with dissipated when once I got Dean out of them. So it couldn't have been _them_, right? It is something different, something supernatural, something unrelated, after all?"

Once again Bobby could only shrug. There was no way knowing until Dean told them what exactly happened to him – once again. Trusting the kid somehow came hard on this case, but they would have to at least try. Besides, now that Sam was in on it, Bobby doubted that Dean had much left to say in the matter.

"Guess, we'll just have to wait and talk to him about it, Sam. Once he's better, we'll make sure he tells us the truth and nothing but the truth. Then we take care of this and get the hell out of here, never come back again."

Sam was chewing his bottom lip in earnest now, already drawing blood but being unaware still. Bobby could see the muscles in his forearms tensing, coiling as he ground his fingers together, digits close to snapping.

Ok, so they still weren't done with the topic – Bobby had feared that much. He mentally braced himself for the storm to come – knowing Sam he was pretty sure a pretty impressive hurricane was bound to unfold eventually.

"Why'd he do it Bobby? Why'd he keep this from me? Dean was having nightmares for weeks – I remember. But I couldn't really help him without knowing, could only sit there and make sure he calmed down a little. I mean, he always was there for me, saw me through everything, every nightmare, every injury – even my first lovesickness. Why not let me do the same for him just once?"

Sam looked at Bobby helplessly, as if he really didn't know the answer to the question, even though it lay right there in the open. Well, maybe he needed just a little nudge in the right direction then.

"You know why Sam. The same reason he did everything else, dumb or smart, his whole life." Bobby said, then added softly:

"To protect you."

Sam snorted angrily, looking at his brother, beaten and bloody and practically sliced open on the bed he was sitting on.

"Screw dad. Screw him. Him and his stupid mission. How could he do it? How could he put this kind of responsibility on Dean's shoulders?"

His voice was pure venom, really meaning it…not for the first time.

Bobby sighed, rearranging his already numb butt on the chair's too hard surface, looking thoughtfully at those two boys that meant the world to him. Both of which he was afraid to loose, more than he'd ever thought possible. Because with Dean gone, a part of Sam would go with him. And Bobby wasn't sure if what would be left behind would still be the same Sam as before. He knew what his little brother's death had done to Dean, knew that it would do the same to Sam, maybe a bit differently, but still the same, overall. And that made him fear for Sam's sanity.

"Yeah, I agree with you on that one, Sam. But you know, Dean didn't do it for your dad. He did it for you…"

Sam stared at him for a second, no doubt wrecking that damn smart brain of his to find a retort to that, for once at a loss for words. Bobby decided to take advantage of this more than unusual situation.

"You know, sure, he did what your dad told him to do – he looked up to that man more than he ever deserved. Dean took care of you, protected you… But I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that he wouldn't have done it, not to this extend at least, if you'd be a different man than you are, Sam. Sure, you're his brother and family binds and all that, but other than that, you two are friends and partners… If you'd be a pretentious asshole who cared for no one but yourself, if you'd not make Dean feel that you deserved his love and trust and devotion, he wouldn't have done it. None of it."

Suddenly Bobby wasn't so sure what exactly he was actually talking about, if this was still all about back then, about Dean not telling Sam what had actually happened, or about something far more recent. And from the look Sam gave him, he could tell that the kid wasn't all that sure either.

Sure enough, though, there were tears collecting in the corners of Sam's eyes, and while he still seemed to be fighting to hold them back Bobby knew that Sam still wasn't convinced, that he still felt that this is all his fault really. Back then, but especially now. That if he hadn't let his guard down, that if he'd had just been stronger and tougher…they wouldn't be where they were today.

Dean would still have his whole life in front of him. They'd have more time left. A lifetime, however much that was worth in their fucked up lives. But it would be a lifetime as brothers, at least, years or months or even weeks spent just being brothers again, no sword of Damocles hanging over their heads, shadowing their every word, their every action.

"Then damn Dean too…" Sam finally choked out, angrily wiping at the tears ready to spill, not willing to let them.

"Because I sure as hell don't deserve this. I mean, Jesus, I left him, didn't I? More than once, even, just up and left and didn't care to look back even once. Now tell me, how does that make me worth it? How does that make me deserve it, Bobby? It doesn't, OK, it just doesn't, and it's not fair. Dean doesn't deserve to sacrifice everything for me, he just doesn't…"

Sam choked at the last word, ran a hand angrily over his face and pushed himself up and off the bed in one swift motion, crossing the room in a couple of long strides.

Bobby watched, horrified and a little dumbstruck, as Sam grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair where he'd discarded it earlier, not caring about the blood, Dean's blood, still staining the fabric, shrugging it on and grabbing the keys to the Impala.

Before he could make his way to the door though, Bobby had enough. He was up and moving in a flash, positioning himself between the younger hunter and the door, holding his hands up against Sam's chest, stopping him short. Bobby didn't doubt, for even one second, that the much younger, much taller and no doubt much stronger man would be able to take him down in no time, should he really try to, but still he couldn't just let him walk out just now. He just couldn't let this happen again.

Sam's eyes spit fire, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck popped up fiercely, his eyes set so hard, it actually made Bobby flinch. He hadn't seen Sam like that since…well, back when he'd been possessed, when he'd beaten the shit out of his own brother.

"Sam, just wait a second right there… What do you think you're doing? You can't leave, not now…"

Sam just stared at him, hands clenched into fists, suddenly taking a step closer.

"Bobby…" he growled deep in his throat and Bobby knew, for one second, that he was going to receive one, like, within the next couple of seconds, because he sure as hell was not going to back down.

"Sam…"

The voice from behind them startled both of them, Bobby actually jumping a little, but is was nothing compared to Sam's reaction, right there in front of him.

His face crumbled, all the fierceness and anger gone so suddenly it made his face look slack all of a sudden before being replaced by something else, emotions as strong and crushing as those before. Only that this time, it was shame and humiliation and sheer, utter pain and fear at the realization at what he had been about to do.

Sam gulped in a breath, his hands unclenching, muscles actually trembling and Bobby had to reach forward to grab his shoulder when he realized that the kid was going to topple over if he didn't steady him. Sam basically slumped into his helping hands but only for a second until again the voice behind them called out, still weak, definitely confused.

"Sam…where…where are you going…?"

Sam apparently couldn't get himself to turn around and face his brother, he dropped his head until his chin almost hit his chest, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. Bobby could feel the fierce tremors shaking him and grabbed onto his shirt tighter, nudging him gently to make him look up again.

When he finally did, Bobby thought he was going to break at the pain and fear he saw in those deep, soulful brown eyes. He locked his gaze with Sam's, no words needed really, just lending him strength, telling him that it was Ok, that it was OK to be weak sometimes. That he understood what Sam was going through, that he knew it hurt more than anything. He himself didn't feel all that different. Only those two boys…they meant so much to each other, it was hard to comprehend the extend of it sometimes.

It only lasted a couple of seconds but in the end Sam pulled himself together, wiping a big hand roughly over his face, trying to hide all traces of the tears he'd spilled before giving Bobby a small nod, transporting all the gratitude with that single look before turning around to take the two long strides it took to get back to his brother's bedside.

OoOoOoO

"Sam…?"

Dean had turned his head around and now lay facing the door, bleary, feverish eyes flitting over to where Sam had just stood, then back to his brother's face.

"Where'd you want to go?" he asked, the confusion in his voice, written all over his features making Sam cringe inwardly. It made him seem so young and truth was, Dean hadn't truly been this young in a long, long time. Not ever, probably. He'd always been so much older than his years, even as a kid.

Sam fought down the renewed surge of resentment towards their father, closing his eyes for a second to keep himself focused. When he opened them again he found his brother's feverish gaze on him, long lashes curled up with the dampness radiating from his own body, skin covered in a fine sheet of sweat.

"Hey Dean…how are you feeling, man?" he asked softly, cursing his voice for hitching a little, but Dean didn't seem to notice, still too out of it.

"Where'd did you want to go?" he repeated, his eyes never leaving Sam's.

OK, so stalling the answer was definitely out of the question.

"Nowhere, Dean, I didn't want to go anywhere. Just out to grab some food… But Bobby volunteered to go so I could stay with you."

He could hear Bobby snort softly behind him but knew that the older hunter didn't take it personally. He was probably going to pay for it at some time, but for now Sam was on the safe side with this.

"Cheeseburger…" Dean rasped and Sam scrunched his brow.

"Come again?"

"Said…cheeseburger for me…and coffee…"

"Yeah right…or how about we get you something a little easier on your stomach? Like something that goes along a little better with those painkillers you're taking? I really don't feel like cleaning reproduced cheeseburger off the floor, you know?"

Dean gave him a weak smirk.

"No mercy with a sick man here? Like, even if it's my dying wish…?"

His eyes had closed again so thankfully he didn't see the pained grimace that flicked over Sam's features. He knew that it was meant to be a gentle tease, nothing else, still it struck a little bit too close to home right now. Sam could feel Bobby shift uneasily behind him.

"Nah…no more dying wishes for you – at least not for a while, Dean. You've kind of overdone it a bit in the past couple of weeks, don't you think?"

Dean shrugged, or at least he tried to, his right shoulder not moving at all, while his left hand still lay extended upwards to be able to sneak his hand underneath his pillow, grabbing for his favorite knife. Only Sam hadn't thought it wise to give the huge and definitely deadly bowie to a delirious Dean and Dean most likely was clutching at thin air only.

"A guy has to try…" he mumbled groggily into the pillow and Sam couldn't help but notice the lines of pain etching into Dean's drawn features, little lines around the eyes and the corners of his mouth, a small but constant furrow creasing his forehead.

"Hey Dean…" Sam moved a little closer, waiting until Dean dragged open leaden lids again to look at him.

"Be honest with me…how are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

It took him a little too long to answer the question, betraying the answer Sam had known would be coming.

"'m fine, Sammy…just tired…"

"Yeah right, I bet…" Bobby growled under his breath behind him and Sam smiled, raising an eyebrow at his brother, saying: _see, even he can see right through you, dude!_

Dean shifted slightly and couldn't hide the little hiss of pain as he sucked in his breath at the sudden pull of raw, inflamed skin on his shoulder, his back, his side. Sam flinched in sympathy along with his brother, put a gentle hand on his good shoulder and waited out the rolls of forced breathing until Dean had himself under control again.

"So, why don't we try that again, shall we? How are you feeling Dean. And please, humour me and be honest about it for once, alright?"

Dean pouted in frustration and Sam could see the ripple of tremors that ran through the muscles on his bare back, bare everywhere except for the pretty large part that had been covered with gauze, that was.

Sam waited him out and was just about to break and ask him again when finally Dean spoke, lips barely parting, his voice a wisp of breath clothed in the shadow of a pained whisper.

"Hurts like hell…like someone tried to fillet me…with a…butter knife."

Sam nodded as if on autopilot, as if it could help him comprehend completely, running a hand through his hair, shooting a questioning look at Bobby. He thanked all the heavens for their friend to be there with them now. God only knew what would have happened…

Bobby shook his head quietly, answering Sam's silent question, as Sam had known he would. Still it felt better to have the confirmation right here.

"Listen, Dean. We don't have anything else to give you right now…nothing to help you with the pain. I gave you our last shot of drugs when…when we needed to finish the stitches so…"

"But I'm gonna go get some right now, alright? Just need to hang in there for a couple of more minutes and it will be alright, OK?" Bobby suddenly chimed in, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder to offer him the reassurance he knew he needed as much as Dean did.

"Thanks Bobby." Sam murmured weakly.

Dean didn't give the impression that he'd heard at first. It was only when he apparently relaxed a tiny bit more, his right fist, which had been lying immobile by his side unclenching ever so slightly, the impression of his nails still etched into the soft of his palm, that both hunters realized that he'd just ridden out another wave of pain hitting him. Instead of carrying it out in the open he'd locked it up inside of him, holding onto it and burying it in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind and body.

As usual.

His muscles were still tense and Bobby decided not to wait any longer. With one last reassuring pat on Sam's shoulder he turned around and headed for the door, only to be stopped short by yet another weak but loud enough voice from the bed to be heard.

"Don't f'get t' cheeseburger…" Dean slurred, voice muffled by still heavy breathing and layers of fabric as he didn't even bother to lift his face from the pillow that he'd buried himself into.

"Shut up, jerk." Sam murmured affectionately and settled himself on his butt next to the bed, back resting against the nightstand between the two queens.

"You'll eat every single bean-sprout we'll push your way…"

"There's no way in hell…!"

Sam winced at the ill chosen words, but Dean seemed to remain oblivious. The front door to the cabin creaked open and eased shut again, before, seconds later, then the rumbling of Bobby's truck as he pulled it out of the parking announced hope for salvation in the foreseeable future.

Or so Sam desperately hoped.

Because he knew it was far from over yet.

Far from over.

"…can't make me…Sam…" Dean slurred, and Sam sighed quietly, resting the back of his head against the nightstand while staring up at the wooden beams that held the ceiling.

"Just watch me, Dean…you'd be surprised at what I'm capable of…"

OoOoOoO

tbc

_AN:_

_I'm so, so sorry for keeping you waiting so long. I've been away last weekend, and then I've been laid up with the flu this week, which is a poor excuse why I didn't post earlier, but it's the only excuse I've got. Those of you who've been reading my previous stories know that I usually post very, frequently, as long as broken computers and faliled internet connection don't defeat my plans._

_I hope this chapter makes up a little for the long wait._

_As always, I'd love to know what you think, your reviews for the last chapter kept me soaring high (I know...pitiful, but that's me)._

_So, hope you enjoyed and that you want to come back for more next week!_

_till then, take care!_


	8. Chapter 8

_Here' the next chapter - right on schedule, as promised!_

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 8**

It seemed to take Bobby forever to come back.

And Dean felt every single minute – every second of the wait.

He'd never been aware of how many fucking seconds one minute had – even though of course he'd _known _– but he hadn't really felt them. Not like this. Hadn't felt every single second like being forced to listen to a dripping faucet all through the night, unable to get up and turn it off.

As much as he tried to fall asleep, or let unconsciousness claim him, like it had tried so insistently over the past hours, it just wouldn't happen. Back when oblivion had beckoned him, had baited him with all it's might, Dean had fought it with everything he'd had left. And now that he was more than ready, was hoping for it to come and carry him away, it simply refused to give him even that little reprieve.

Goddamit.

Every single second of however many minutes that he was forced to lay there and wait for Bobby to come back was pure agony. And it didn't particularly help that he couldn't really show how absolutely rotten he felt, couldn't get up and punch the wall or hurl the chair across the room just to get it all out of his system. He couldn't do it because Sam was there, right next to him, perched on the floor between the bed, drowning Dean in a never-ending stream of words that held no meaning whatsoever most of the time, that were simply meant to sooth and comfort.

It worked, a little, but unfortunately it wasn't nearly enough at the moment.

Dean's whole back was on fire, his shoulder throbbing, side a constant tearing pull of stitches against raw flesh, waiting to burst open again. He concentrated on his breathing, found it hard and a little painful as he remembered for the first time in hours the beating he'd received before being cut open like a piece of prime meat. Lying on his stomach did nothing to make breathing easier, did nothing to ease the cramps in his stomach either, but it all kinda faded into the background right now.

Because his back…

God, he really needed those drugs they'd promised him…

Dean realized that Sam had stopped talking, and even though he hadn't really been listening, he panicked a little. Because he really, really needed Sam here. He needed him here to be able to keep himself together. Without Sam, Dean wasn't sure if he'd see a sense in trying anymore.

Story of his life…

He pushed himself up and couldn't contain a gasp as his back pulled and screamed against the sudden movement. He plummeted back down, nose squished into the pillow, riding out the wave of pain as best as he could. He thought he might have been pretty quiet about it, hoped that Sam had not heard, certainly not seen.

For a couple of minutes at the least nothing existed besides the pain slamming into and through him, the shortness of breath and the absolute certainty that he wouldn't get through it, not this time, that finally Joe had succeeding in defeating him.

And god, how Dean hated for him to have won.

He hurt so bad, felt so disjointed and imprisoned in his own body all at the same time, it was hard to get to terms with it.

He wanted, no _needed_ Sam, first and foremost. And then, once that was taken care of, he definitely _needed_ Bobby. One – for his unwavering support and love and strong shoulder, for himself but mostly for Sammy. Two – and maybe it should really be number one priority, he needed the morphine or whatever else the hunter would manage to bring. He needed it, no matter how weak that made him look in his own eyes, but he really, really needed it. Just a little, just to take the edge off, just so he could concentrate on something else but the burning, tearing pain slamming into his back with every single second that he lay there, unable to move.

"Dean…"

Slowly, Sam's voice penetrated the fog smothering his brain, his little brother's voice without a doubt, yet low and soothing and warm and strong… A voice carrying an authority and reassurance that Dean had always known his brother possessed but wasn't allowed to exhibit too often because Dean wouldn't let him. He couldn't let him – because it was Dean's part to offer the solace and warmth and love of a big brother and father to his little brother, not the other way around. Sam wasn't supposed to be the one worrying, the one taking care of things. Sam wasn't supposed to be the protector.

It wasn't meant to be this way.

But damn if it didn't feel good, if it didn't feel fucking amazing to be taken care of for once. And if Dean was just a little bit honest with himself, he'd missed this. Not that dad hadn't been a good father - far from it. He'd been there for them, had been there for Dean, only maybe differently than _normal_ fathers would have been. But then again – their lives had been so far from normal, they couldn't really measure themselves by normal standards, right?

But Sam being there for him now, holding him and rubbing soothing circles on the back of his head, his neck, his good shoulder…it felt so good, Dean wanted to sob out at the relief it brought. At the same time it just screamed _wrong_ so loud and clear in his head, Dean wanted to turn around and yell at Sam for even doing this. For doing something that wasn't his job, his place. For taking over a job that was Dean's and Dean's alone.

"Dean…hey. Easy dude, easy. Come on, man, ease up. You're only making it worse."

Dean realized that he'd twisted himself to the side, coiling his body to alleviate the pressure building in his back and side, threatening to crush him under its weight.

Sam gently started to pry the fingers of Dean's left hand out of the sheets and Dean forced himself to relax, to let Sam do it without fighting back.

He turned his head on the pillow, feeling the moisture that had soaked into the sheets from his body cooling his cheek and sighed a little, eyes closing briefly in relief. Anything to push back the heat that was raging inside him – anything… Only, he wasn't sweating right now, not anymore, the way his skin felt hot and almost too dry all of a sudden, pulling taut over his muscles, as if threatening to split open if he simply moved.

This was not good – Dean knew that much. Fever and not sweating… it wasn't good. No matter how he looked at it, he didn't seem to be able to catch a break just yet.

Dean took a deep breath, hissing as the motion pulled the stitches on his back, his skin apparently shrinking even further, getting tighter and tighter, more confining by the second.

"Are you thirsty? I've got some ice-chips in the freezer…"

Dean closed his eyes in negation, not finding the strength to even shake his head anymore.

"Gonna make me sick…"

He could basically _hear_ Sam wrinkle his brow in concern at the statement, felt his brother shift to lean onto the bed.

"Later, Sam…when it…." _doesn't hurt so fucking much anymore…_ "When my stomach is done…with that flipping thing…it's been doing… It's kinda fun…actually…like riding a roller coaster…"

Only that he'd never been too fond of roller coasters to begin with.

Sam, of course, would know that.

The frown was still on Sam's face when Dean cracked an eye open, looking up at the pretty imposing and definitely looming figure of his "little" brother towering over him like a snake protecting its lair.

"Stop hovering…" Dean quipped on a shaky exhale.

"Stop pretending you're fine." Sam shot back without hesitation.

He sounded almost a little angry…pissed. Why would he sound pissed? Concerned, alright, Dean could get that, but pissed? Because, usually, even if Dean had been an ass, or had done something a little bit out of line like, say, keep his brother in the dark about something like he might have done with this hunt, the minute that something happened and Dean got hurt, Sam would go all soft and teary and _emo_ on him. The bitching and reproaches came later – usually.

Dean blinked back his surprise, mentally preparing himself for the storm he was sure was about to come.

On the other hand – a little argument might help distract him from the pain a little – because he'd tried singing or humming or even reciting an exorcism or two but had failed miserably to take his mind off his current situation for longer than a couple of minutes at the most.

But the storm didn't come, at least not yet. Dean could see Sam collect himself, taking a deep breath to calm himself back down before once again looking at him. His eyes held none of the accusation Dean had seen there before, they were simply _Sam_, deep and worried and soft.

Looked like he'd gotten away with it for the time being – whatever _it_ was. Dean had no idea and couldn't bring himself to care right this moment. Now, he needed to make it till Bobby came back – everything else he could worry about later.

Sam was about to say something, literally opening his mouth just the second a heavy knock sounded from the door before it was opened, a wave of cool air wafting in from outside, sending a wave of goose-bumps flittering over Dean's fever-hot skin.

_Bobby…_

Dean tried to not show the utter relief he felt at Bobby's return, fearing that he failed miserably if keeping his eyes open, so he closed them tightly and listened to the calm and low exchange of words between his brother and their friend. Words he didn't understand, that he didn't need to understand.

He could basically feel the worried frowns, the looks of concern, the looks of pity…

Dean was so absorbed in his imagination of what was going on around him that he practically jumped when something touched his arm, the touch of a hand freezing against his hot skin. He tore his eyes open only to find himself face to face with Bobby, who smiled a little – one of those _gentle/soothing_ smiles, the one people usually reserved for kids or old people…or those badly wounded. Dean knew that look, unfortunately. Better than he would have liked.

"Didn't think…I'd ever be so happy…to see your…ugly mug…" Dean sighed, eyes too heavy to stay open for longer than a second at a time.

"You better watch your mouth son, or else I'll take this and leave again…" Bobby grumbled gently, the soft smile betraying him loud and clear.

It was only then that Dean saw the hypodermic syringe in Bobby's hand, already filled about halfway up with a unidentifiable liquid.

He knew he shouldn't be so relieved at he sight, knew it was wrong to crave the shot so much, he basically salivated over it, but there was no way he was going to be able to stand this much longer. Besides, it was just one shot, right? Just one, and once he'd gotten some rest, had gotten his composure back, he'd be doing just fine without.

When he once again felt the warmth of the drug seep into his vein, sluggishly rolling up his arm to settle heavily at the base of his skull he didn't fight the pull of oblivion but welcomed it with open arms, almost sighing in relief but biting back at the sound at the last minute. He knew the sensation would be way too short lived, knew that it wasn't done for good.

He knew that sleep would be short, too, that within a couple of hours at the most reality would come back to bite him in the ass. But even that knowledge couldn't dampen the nameless relief that flooded him when the drugs slowly drowned out the screaming in his head and body to plunge him into blissful silence.

OoOoOoO

Dean's reprieve was way too short lived.

He rested for barely two, three hours tops until he started to resurface, slowly but steadily.

It started with a muted groan, a ground out whimper, followed by the shuffling noise of his limbs as he sluggishly dragged them over the already rumpled sheets.

Sam had never truly been asleep, only in some sort of a semi-slumber and even those small movements, the change in his brother's breathing had him up and alert within seconds.

Sam had relinquished his bed to Bobby, sat wedged between the mattresses, his upper body slumped awkwardly onto the mattress next to his flailing brother, one hand on Dean's right wrist, fore- and middle finger pressed gently but firmly against his pulse point – just to make sure. Just to have some kind of connection.

But even as Dean's movement got more frantic, his breathing more clipped and harsh, there was nothing much Sam could do besides hold on to him. He had one hand on his arm, the other tangling in his brother's once again sweat soaked hair, running soothing circles, whispering words of reassurance that probably didn't even manage to breach the outermost layer of Dean's fever-heated shell.

Both Bobby and Sam were left to watch helplessly as Dean drowned in hallucinated dreams, whispering, shouting, _moaning_, spitting out words of menace and threat, of fear and pain alike. Sam was trying to follow what Dean was saying, tried to make sense of some of the once sided conversations and arguments his brother spat out in his delirium. Some of those things made sense, were narrations of occurrences of their collective past, but some were new to Sam, tales of terror and fear and pain that Dean would have never shared with his brother had he been up and aware.

It tore at Sam's heart not knowing which of those nightmares were real and which were just an imagination of a fevered brain.

So he chose not to listen anymore, for his own sanity as much as Dean's.

He wasn't sure that he was ready to find out how goddamn vulnerable his brother really was.

Dean was burning up, the fever spiking despite the cold packs Sam and Bobby packed around his body, despite the antibiotics Sam was able to force past Dean's parched lips and coaxed him to swallow.

The skin on his back looked…swollen, distorted, stretched taut over tick strands of muscle, the color an unhealthy hue of red, melting together with ever darkening bruises that started to spread over his back and sides, his chest and abdomen too. It was almost as if someone had taken the skin of a much smaller man to the stretch it over Dean's muscular form.

Sam winced in sympathy and worry, could not even come close to imagining what it would feel like if it looked that bad already.

They'd cleand the wound again, Bobby liberally applying antibiotic ointment while Sam held on to his brother's arm, talking him through the no doubt painful procedure, assuring him with his presence as much as his words that everything would be alright in the end.

That they'd be able to beat this.

And then go out and waste whoever was responsible for it.

It was a promise that Sam was absolutely certain he was going to keep.

Which now made up to two promises he had to make good on.

But he could do this.

They could do this.

For hours there was no rest, none whatsoever, as Dean fought and fought and fought some more, his body never lying still, never ceasing to writhe and tremble, trying to battle down a fever that clearly had gained the upper hand. But Dean had never been one to give up easily, never one to accept his own fallibility.

The only rules he'd ever obeyed to were his father's, and while Sam had admonished him for that more than once, he now was thankful for those rules all the same. Because dad had been the one drilling into his sons time and time again that giving up was not an option. That failure wasn't acceptable. And maybe it was these rule only that made Dean give everything he had and more, that made him hold on, however hard it may prove to be.

OoOoOoO

Dean was fighting his way back to consciousness.

It was hard work, way too exhausting to be worth it, to be honest. His head was thick, stuffed to the brim, barely any room left for a single coherent thought, none whatsoever for even the faintest speck of desire to even attempt the impossible.

He didn't want to wake, not really, but somehow there was a pull, a tug so fierce it made not trying almost impossible.

_When he regained consciousness, he was again sitting on the floor, hands now bound behind his back, shoulders screaming from the change into the new, not much more comfortable position. He didn't dare move for he was afraid that any movement would attract some, well…unwanted attention._

The edges of reason were crowding dangerously close to his sanity, his body and mind tense, yet unable to make sense of much besides this…fear, the gnawing feeling of _wrong_, that congested his chest, that made breathing almost impossible.

_He tried to remain in his position as long as somehow possible. Over his own, incoherent breathing, he had trouble making out any other sound in the room, but he actually didn't hear a thing. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer._

He needed to do something, anything. He needed to get _out of here._

_He tilted back his head, let out a surge of air through his nose, moaning painfully. Nobody came. Nobody made a sound. Had they left already? He tried to concentrate, to focus all his senses on hearing what was around him, but he couldn't make out a thing._

The sound of blood rushing in his ears, the echo of his own heartbeat, way too fast and deafening in its intensity reverberated through his already pounding skull. There were other sounds, too, somewhere close. But he couldn't make them out, couldn't place them. It hurt to listen, hurt to _be._

_Slowly, there were other sounds though, that penetrated his ears. Nocturnal sounds, filling the air outside the room or house he was held in. He hadn't heard them before, now they were everywhere._

There were crickets, chirping in that annoying way that sometimes drove Dean mad when all he wanted to do was sleep. He thought he heard an owl off in the distance, maybe even the howl of a coyote or wolf. Were there still wolves in these parts of the country? Sam was the one always getting off about lecturing both his older brother and his father about all the native animals of the region whenever they moved again, set up camp in yet another town, another state. So Dean would have to make Sam check. Just to be sure.

Sam…he had to get back to Sam…and dad, too. They had to be wondering where Dean was by now – dad most definitely would be pissed.

_He attempted to open his mouth to scream only to find that he couldn't and with a terrible shock realized that his mouth had again been taped shut. The sound that he did manage to make was so feeble, so muffled by the gag, that here was no sense in trying that again. At least nobody came to silence him. He was alone._

He groaned and grunted through the refines of the gag – soft and stale smelling as it pressed against his mouth, muffling his sounds and rendering them useless. Still he couldn't stop himself.

_The relief that initially flooded him very soon vanished, though, as soon as he realized what this actually meant. He was alone. There was nobody there anymore, he was absolutely on his own. And, goddamnit, he couldn't breath through his mouth…_

He was alone. Alone and tied and gagged and _hurt._.. There was no way he was going to make it, no way.

Dean struggled against the panic seizing him, struggled against the gag that somehow, managed to not only cover his mouth but slip over his nose as well, covering his eyes. It felt strange, weird – different than what he thought…different than he remembered.

Remembered…

He'd thought that they'd used tape to cover his mouth and eyes, but his nose…his nose had been free, he'd been able to at least breathe through his goddamn nose…

Dean choked on another grinding breath that got stuck somewhere inside of him, way too far away from his lungs to bring even the slightest reprieve.

No, no…he couldn't – they couldn't…

Dean gasped, lips paralyzed by gag and panic, eyes blinded. His chest was caving, heaving, caving again, his legs shaking as he attempted to lift himself, turn around, anything to get away…to walk…

He hurt too fucking much to get up, let alone walk, but he had to try. He had to get back to his brother – couldn't leave him – not alone with dad. The two of them were going to kill each other in no time…

Dean's head was clogging up, a thick, impenetrable fog smothering the last remnants of clear thought, of logic.

He needed to get up, out, walk through the forest to a street…a car…a woman – talking to him, sirens and an ambulance… Dean shook his head, unable to read and interpret the confusing pictures and sounds rushing at him, making him dizzy.

Sounds from somewhere to his side suddenly startled him, and he tensed up, almost ceased breathing altogether.

Voices – very faint and distorted…steps.

_They were coming back._

Somehow Dean had made it through the night, had survived against all odds and now they were coming back, ready to kill him off. Because there was no way they were going to let him live.

No way.

There wasn't much left in him, the fight mostly gone, smothered by the heat surrounding him and the pain coursing through his body, but Dean was not going to give up, not like this. He wasn't just going to lie there and wait for them to finish what they'd started. At least he would be going down fighting, standing…he wasn't going to die lying down.

That way at least he was going to make his dad proud…

He rolled himself to his side, barely managing to keep himself from throwing up it - hurt so bad - then pressing his shoulder into something solid – the wall most likely, pushing himself up.

He couldn't throw up, couldn't fall down again. Once down, he wasn't going to make it to his feet again.

The wall was soft, yielding a little and Dean stumbled, trying to regain his balance. Why was the fucking wall _moving_?

He clawed at the wall, attempting to push himself away, to use the momentum to take a step, maybe two. Anything to get him away. There was a flicker of a doubt, all of a sudden, the fact that he was actually using both arms to hold himself up, to hold his balance…his arms not tied together behind his back, but the information didn't make it past his subconscious, never made it to the surface.

His need to escape, to fight was the only thing his tortured brain could concentrate on at the moment.

Which was probably the only reason why he didn't react right away when he heard an all too familiar voice calling his name, didn't immediately recognize the feel of warm, soft hands against his cheeks, closing around his biceps, pulling him back against the wall, holding him down.

"No…" he rasped, and again – it didn't really register that he could suddenly talk, could breathe, too, even though it still was goddamn hard.

"No…let go of me… let go."

He fought with all he had, which admittedly wasn't all too much to begin with, but he landed a punch or two, heard a painful grunt and a hissed curse that made him cheer inside.

Long, strong arms wrapped around him, holding onto him and pulling him into what he thought was an embrace – only that it couldn't be. It couldn't…

"Hey…come on, stop this…you gotta stop fighting me…" The voice was harsh, demanding and Dean instinctively reared back and away, found himself immobilized by the vice-like grip his captor had on him. It was impossible to free himself.

"Let go…"

"No…Dean, stop. Stop. Its alright…alright. I'm not going to hurt you. You need to calm down. Calm down. Take a breath, come on…LOOK AT ME. You need to look at me…_please_."

It was that last word, that gentle yet heart-shattering plea that finally did it.

It was a tone of voice that Dean knew too well, had been conditioned to react to without thinking all his life.

It was Sam.

And for a minute there was no thinking about Sam had managed to get there, how he'd managed to find his big brother. There wasn't even the fear that, maybe, _they'd_ found his little brother, had taken him and brought him here, to the cabin in the middle of nowhere, to torture him like they'd tortured Dean. None of that mattered, because it was Sam. And he was there with him – was there with Dean. He wasn't alone anymore. And at the moment, sadly enough, that was all that mattered.

"Sam."

Sam's face was very close to Dean's – too close for comfort, two huge palms splayed against his face, squishing his cheeks, holding his head immobile.

Dean blinked sluggishly, felt his lids impossibly weighed down by huge droplets of sweat, splashing over his cheeks and burning in his eyes. But he couldn't close them, couldn't avert them, he was too enamored by the sight in front of him.

Sam.

His Sam.

Only, he wasn't the chubby twelve year old that he should be…by all means. When the hell had he _grown_ so much?

"Sam?"

Sam smiled – all angular chin and nose and jaw, hair still too long but different than what Dean thought he remembered nonetheless. But his eyes were the same, even though his head seemed to have grown, deep and hazel and so much the Sammy he remembered, there really was no doubt. No reasonable one.

This was _his_ Sammy.

All grown up and fucking huge, but Sammy nonetheless.

"Yeah…yeah, Dean, it's me. Sam. You with me again?"

"Don't know…where…depends on where you are?" Dean's own voice was way too deep, way too raspy. He sounded…all grown up, too.

"Yeah…well. You were pretty much gone for a while – out for the count. You tried to run away from me, dude."

"Couldn't let them…catch me." Dean sighed and suddenly felt his legs getting heavier, his body pulling him down.

"Hey…easy, easy there. Wait, let me help."

With a grunt Sam helped Dean lower down to his knees as he embarrassingly slumped down, his shoulder slamming into Sam's chest, getting stopped there by a pretty impressive plane of muscle.

That sure as hell wasn't natural – at least for a twelve-year-old to be toned like that...

"You…work out, dude?" Dean slurred, and he somehow, stupidly remembered the slur of his words and tied them to some fucking strong, fucking amazing medication. _Bobby and a syringe…_

Sam scrunched his brows, shot a look over Dean's shoulder to someone standing behind him.

Again a surge of panic flooded Dean, his heart seizing and clenching as he feared who might be standing there, lurking in the shadows…watching them. If it was _them…_

Letting his head drop onto Sam's shoulder Dean feigned a sudden bout of weakness that wasn't all that far fetched, really, but would hopefully help him talk to Sam without being detected.

"Sam…you gotta…make a run for it. …I distract them and you…" Dean whispered, praying feverishly that Sam understood and played along without putting up a fuss.

There was no way Dean could outrun them, not in his current condition. But if Sam made it out…he would be able to get dad, have him come to the rescue. Dean just had to hold on till they got back. He could do that. Knowing that Sam was safe was all it would take…

"Dean, hey. Come on, it's…it's alright. There's no one after us. You're safe. You're hallucinating, dude. It's the fever – do you remember what happened?"

Sam voice was soft and warm against Dean's ear.

Why the hell did the kid always have to _talk back_ to him. Always questioning, always so fucking rebellious…

"No…you run…" Dean tried again, a little more determined this time.

It had to look fucking awkward, him kneeling, leaning into his little brother's chest like this like it was the only thing holding him up anymore. Which, come to think of – might have been true. Damn. And then – his little brother really didn't seem all that small anymore. His shoulders broad and muscular, arms long as an octopus's, snaking around Dean's back. He was tall…maybe even taller than Dean himself – taller than dad, even. Dean actually able to lean against him without bending down at all – _huh…_

"It's alright, Dean…just take it easy. You're having a fever, hallucinating. You're never doing good with a fever, remember?"

And, in fact, Dean did remember. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he did remember. Countless occasions where he'd been out for the count, countless injuries and pains and hurts. Only it was all too muddled, so close and yet so hard to grasp.

"They're here…Sam. Joe, the others…they're here. They took me and… You need to…I can't run…but you can. You go…get out…get back to dad…"

Sam's shoulder tensed underneath his forehead, Dean could feel the muscles bulging, shifting.

God, he was so goddamn weak. And tired. And hot and cold all at the same time. He wanted to lie down and sleep – possibly forever.

Sam shifted his weight until Dean almost slumped off his brother's shoulder, but he was too weak to protest. Sam's arms snaked around Dean's side, carefully levering his heavy as lead body away, propping him up a little more.

"You're safe, Dean. You're safe now. Look at me, Dean. There's no one after you – no one after us. I'm right here…we're not anywhere near that cabin anymore. I've got you – we walked out of there, remember? Together. Bobby's here, too. We patched you up, but you're running a pretty nasty fever, kept hallucinating, tried to get up and run away. But we've got you, there's no need to run, Dean. We've got you – _I've_ got you..."

Sam's voice was low and soothing, imploring, willing Dean to believe. And he wanted to, god did he want to believe. But it was so damn hard…

Sam held Dean's gaze seemingly forever, hazel eyes boring into his as he looked at him, willing him to believe. For a few agonizing seconds Sam's eyes seemed to morph, from the deep, hazel but certainly adult eyes of the grown up Sam, right back to the smaller, the teenage version of his little brother. For a second, Dean was afraid that it really was all a terrible illusion - that he was still held prisoner, tortured and beaten, and his fevered brain tried to deem him safe, where in reality he wasn't.

"I've got you Dean…you need to trust me on that. You _have_ to trust me…"

And then Dean knew, without a doubt, that it was true. That Sam would never lie to him and that he was indeed out and…well, relatively safe. Within seconds or minutes reality drowned out the dream, washed off the last remnants of unnamed terror that had threatened to crush him just minutes ago. It was like one of those scenes from a movie, seeing your whole life pass by in fast forward in front of your eyes, everything that had happened to him, to his family.

It was both a relief and a the most frightening thing Dean had ever gone through.

But what it boiled down to, right now, was that he was not held prisoner in the middle of nowhere anymore, that he wasn't tied and blinded and gagged, that he wasn't forced to walk through the night, alone and blindfolded and in pain…

He was kneeling on the floor in the middle of some backwoods cabin, a fire burning in the fireplace to his left, his brother kneeling in front of him, Bobby close by. Not alright, but far from giving up.

Safe.

For now.

With the realization came the heaviness, the pain, too, slamming back into him with full force as he sagged again, got caught by Sam's arms enveloping him from the front, Bobby's hands gently taking hold of him from behind. There was nothing he could do but close his eyes and let them steer him back to the bed, lay him down.

He drank a glass of water – deliciously cool – even though he had to be propped awkwardly against Sam's shoulder to do so, then they settled him down, covered him up with layers of blankets.

"Go to sleep, Dean. I'll be right here when you wake up, alright? Nobody's getting past me, I promise. I'm not going anywhere."

Yeah, this definitely was real. Only the real Sammy would manage to sound as girly and close to tears as he did right now. Only the real Sam would not be able to stop _touching_ him, going all emo…

No illusion would ever manage to make that up.

OoOoOoO

Dean's fever broke, finally, about an hour after they'd gotten him back into bed and settled down again. He still was sluggish, still too weak and a little too hot, but the dangerously high temperature had gone down to leave him a light fever that would hopefully help him clear his body of the last remnants of the infection coursing through his system.

He finally lay still, unmoving, almost comatose.

Sam didn't allow himself to rest, to let down his guard in the slightest until he could see Dean stilling completely, all tension leaving his body, the lines crafted into his features smoothing out ever so slightly. His breathing settled down until only every other breath was accompanied by a painful hick, a strangled sigh.

The sun was coming up again for the second time since Sam had dragged Dean's bleeding form into the room, chirping of the forest birds surrounding their little secluded cabin when finally all three hunters were able to rest in various states of relatively pain free oblivion.

Even though Sam knew it wasn't going to stay that way indefinitely.

Peace was nothing but an illusion.

Nothing but a sham.

OoOoOoO

tbc

_AN:_

_I don't know if I did this right...did this make sense at all? I don't know anymore._

_(Oh - and the center-sligned, italic paragraphs were backflashes - just in case anybody wondered.)_

_Anyways, I hope it wasn't too bad - I don't know if I managed to convey what I actually wanted to say. _

_Thanks so much for reading and I owe special thanks to those who took and will take the time to drop me a review._

_I know I didn't manage to answer all of last weeks reviews yet - please don't hold it against me!_

_Take care_


	9. Chapter 9

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 9**

Dean finally slept.

Slept like dead, as a matter of fact, and soon Bobby found himself drifting off too, again perched on the bed that used to be Sam's, while the younger man dragged over one of the heavy, cushioned chairs from the fireplace and slumped down in it, legs propped up on the mattress next to his brother. Bobby knew it was in parts to be more comfortable, but also in parts to feel every single movement Dean would make.

To be as close as possible without actually lying on the mattress next to him. Bobby had no doubt that the only thing keeping the younger Winchester from smothering his brother even further was the fact that Dean took up pretty much all available space on the bed already, the way he lay sprawled there on his stomach.

They all slept, exhaustion taking their toll on all of them, and it wasn't till a few hours later that Bobby was woken by the sound of Sam moving across the room, going to the bathroom and reemerging with a glass of water that he fed to a barely awake Dean before settling back in his makeshift bed again.

The younger hunter had to be exhausted too, but he didn't seem to be sleeping more than an hour or two at a time before once again rising, fussing over his brother, washing him down, giving him something to drink, checking his wounds and his temperature.

Sam was restless, and if Bobby hadn't been pretty much dead on his feet from the hunt he'd just come from as well as the events of the days spent with the Winchesters, he probably would have tied the kid to the bed and forced him to rest. Instead he found himself being roused time and time again by Sam shuffling and trudging and roaming around the room like the freaking insomniac that he'd been since he'd hit his teenage years.

Dean woke again in the late afternoon, was sufficiently coherent for long enough to down some water, suffer through another change of his bandages and tell them about a dozen times that he was feeling fine, great, peachy and didn't really need another shot of painkillers, then pretending annoyance as Bobby supplied him with another shot anyways before drifting off again. But his fever was down, stayed down, too, his temperature slightly high in numbers but not dangerously so anymore.

And still Sam didn't manage to rest.

Sometime late that night, Bobby was once again ripped from some promising dream by an insistent, tapping noise and after turning over a couple of times, groaning loudly to express his disapproval of the interruption, he finally gave up and opened his eyes.

His first look fell on the bed next to his, finding Dean tangled in his sheets and slightly flushed but blessedly out of it for the time being, face relatively relaxed, hands unclenched by his side. It struck Bobby how young he looked, how absolutely still he lay.

Bobby couldn't remember the young man ever looking so young, ever before. Not even when he'd been 6, roaming around Bobby's house, chasing after a chubby toddler that threatened to topple stacks of books and pieces of furniture in his wake. Sam had been cute and red cheeked and adorable beyond belief then, even when breaking things, looking at Bobby with huge round eyes, grubby fingers smearing chocolate all over the cushions and curtains. But Dean had always been serious, always alert, so much older than his years when cleaning up after his little brother, dragging him back to his room, washing him, reading him a bedtime story.

He'd always been the one responsible, the one never caught off guard – an aura of always being _ready_, for what Bobby didn't know. But he'd never been weak, and he'd never looked quite as young as right now, when his days were actually already numbered, the end postponed for another few months, but still far too close…far too close.

The tapping noise came from the other end of the room and Bobby could make out Sam's slumped form wedged into a chair by the fireplace, bent over his laptop that was open in front of him, eyes transfixed onto the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Bobby grunted, ran a hand over his face, scratching his beard while struggling to sit up, giving his joints time to creak and pop into place before making his way over to his young friend.

"Hey there, Sam…surfing for porn again?"

Sam almost slipped off his chair as he jerked in surprise, the look of being caught doing something forbidden that passed over his face for an instant almost priceless.

Bobby couldn't help the grin that pretty much split his face in two.

Even though the kid looked like he was going to either keel over or jump Bobby any second. Still it was pretty damn hilarious. For about two seconds, tops.

"Jesus, Bobby. Almost gave me a freaking heart attack, sneaking up on me like this."

"Well, didn't exactly sneak up on you, kid. Besides, you seemed to be able to hear Dean _blinking_ just fine throughout the night, so I kinda figured me getting up and clearing my throat and walking over here, stomping my feet and all would be a sure enough giveaway..."

Sam's shoulders slumped as his eyes automatically flipped over to Dean's unmoving body on the bed, then back to Bobby's before he averted them again, fixing them once again on the laptop screen. Whatever page he'd loaded cast an eerie, bluish light onto the young man's features making him appear even more drawn, more haggard than he already looked.

"Yeah…uhm…seems like I kinda lost my spidey-senses sometime during the last couple of hours…"

Bobby nodded, pulled out a chair and sat opposite the younger Winchester, elbows on the table, chin in hands. Truth was, Sam most likely hadn't lost any of his powers, he'd just tuned them completely in on his brother, shutting out everything else around him in order to be there for Dean's every need. Bobby had seen both boys do that, time and time again ever since he'd first met them. They were tuned into each other so finely, it was close to a miracle. And it had saved each of their lives more than once.

"How's he doing?" Bobby tipped his head towards Dean but kept his eyes on Sam, observing him carefully.

Sam's eyes once again flipped to the bed, staying there for a couple of seconds, evaluating the situation while chewing on his bottom lip, yet the lines on his forehead were smoothing out a little, his eyes going softer.

"I think he's doing better." The young man finally offered, the muscles in his forearm twitching one last time before relaxing along with the rest of Sam's body, as he basically shrunk in on himself, barely holding himself upright by the arms folded on the table.

"The fever broke – I think he's finally sleeping, not just out cold. I mean, it's going to be in one hell of a lot of pain but…I don't know, if he's taking it easy, which you know the odds of, but if he's actually giving himself some time, I guess he'll be alright."

"Yeah, well…he still needs some time. That back of his…still doesn't look good. He'll be one hell of a cranky patient. You know how he is when he is in pain but too proud to admit to it."

Sam smiled without much humour, fingers of one hand brushing over the keyboard of his laptop absentmindedly.

"Tell me about it. I've spent so much time with him hurt and not admitting to it – I could write a book about it. Lately it seems like he's in some sort of pain more often than he's alright…"

Bobby furrowed his brow, trying to find a way to delve a little deeper without shutting Sam off. But then again – this was Sam he was talking to. The one Winchester that was most likely to open up to him, hell, that probably burst with words crying to be heard, only waiting for the right moment, the right listener. And Bobby would be more than fine to be that person, to be the sewer for Sam's thoughts and emotions. Someone needed to be.

"Seems to me like you both could need some good, long wellness vacation – a full on body massage, the whole deal…"

Again Sam smiled, but it seemed a little more real this time.

"Yeah, shit. A vacation would be nice. Time to wind down – relax." Sam's face darkened again, his eyes flicking and dancing between whatever was up on the screen of his laptop, Dean's bed and Bobby's face.

"But, you know…there's no time. We can't really afford to waste even one single day…not till we've found a way to keep him…to save him…till we find a way…"

Bobby nodded, his heart sinking at the look of both determination and defeat washing over Sam's features.

"We're working on it, Sam. We'll do whatever we can. But you can't…both of you can't keep pushing yourselves till you can't go on anymore. You need to stop moving, stop running every once in a while. Both of you need to remember to find the time to just be yourselves again – be brothers and friends like you used to. You can't go on like this, Sam – you'll lose more...there won't be anything left…"

Bobby shut himself off, afraid of going on. Not only because he feared Sam's reaction, but also because he didn't know if he was ready to face what he'd been about to say himself.

_They needed to be brothers now because there wouldn't be any time left for it once Dean was gone. They'd regret not stopping and actually spending time with each other once Dean was in Hell. _

But Bobby didn't need to spell it out, apparently, the tears shimmering in Sam's eyes made it clear that he'd understood perfectly. Bobby was ashamed of himself, felt like the worst hypocrite in the world for even thinking it – but there was a chance, a chance much bigger than he wanted to admit to, that there was no way out, that there was no way to save Dean from going to Hell. That there was nothing they could do to keep him with them.

"We'll find a way – we'll save him." Sam pressed out, left fist close to banging the tabletop for emphasis, barely restraining himself.

"There is no…I can't…I won't lose him. I won't. I'll find a way – _we'll_ find a way."

"Alright Sam. Alright. We will. And I'll help you, you know that. Just promise me…promise me that the two of you will just stop every once in a while to take a breath, make sure you don't lose each other in other ways, alright? That's all I'm asking. A minute to breathe every now and then, nothing more."

The way Sam finally held Bobby's eyes again, nodding jerkily yet honestly, told the seasoned hunter that Sam at least had been listening – had understood.

"Alright – I'll…we'll try. We will. Once this is over, we'll take a couple of days off – learn to breathe again."

"Good, that's all I was asking for."

They were quiet for a while, catching their breath, Bobby discreetly looking away to give Sam time and a little space while the kid ran a hand over his face, digging slightly shaking fingers into the corners of his eyes to get rid of the telltale wetness that had gathered there. When the kid's posture finally suggested that he had himself under control again, Bobby once again turned to face him, pointing his chin nonchalantly towards the laptop still open between them on the table.

"So, what were you looking at? I take it, the porn-sites are more Dean's metier…not that I'd judge you or anything…"

Sam snorted, tapping the space bar to kill the screen saver, then scrolling down the page he'd been looking at.

"I was trying to find out a little more about this…about back then. I tried to find out if there was ever any…other weird disappearances in the area, anything unusual that suggested anything supernatural going on. But I didn't find anything. Ever. Like this town was almost too clean after Dean…after we left."

"Could have told you that if you'd asked me, Sam. Could have told you the names of the kids that did that to your brother, too. All you'd have needed to do was ask…"

"You know who they were? Dean told you?"

"I told you he confided in me. Told you I helped him keep an eye on them. 'Course I know their names, would have been kinda hard to keep track of them without knowing who they really were."

"So you knew about Joe Stinetti." Sam deadpanned, cutting Bobby off.

The older hunter wasn't really surprised, he knew that the kid was good – an ace at research. Still he wouldn't have thought that he'd be this fast.

"Well, looks like you did your homework. How'd you figure out he was one of them?" Bobby asked, a hint of pride coloring his words, which served to soften Sam down some.

"Dean mentioned a Joe was after him…last night, when he was hallucinating, remember? And I thought I remembered him mentioning that name back then, during one of his terrible nightmares…"

Sam had to swallow around a lump in his throat before being able to go on.

"So I checked the school's yearbook of the year Dean went to school here, then ran all the names. There were only two names who had any kind of file at all – one just had a court order for not paying a whole bunch of speeding and parking tickets, so I figured I could forget about him. But the other one had a couple of minor stuff in his files – little things like bar-brawls and disturbance of peace. He'd been arrested for possession of an unauthorized weapon once, another time for verbal abuse of a neighbour threatening the man with yet another unauthorized weapon. But all charges were dropped, which is why it again never really made the papers. The guy's name was Joe, and it seems like his daddy was a big shot lawyer, had a lot to say in this town. He probably made sure that nothing ever got too sticky for little Joe."

Bobby had to hand it to the kid, he was better than good. Bobby hadn't known about the arrests – had only known about the occasional bar brawls and backstreet fights that always left Joe as the one getting the brunt of the injuries – so he'd never seen it necessary to interfere. He knew that John had come here once, to make sure that Joe didn't overstep the line, but it had been useless since the kid had once again holed up somewhere to lick his wounds, not doing anybody any damage.

"He seemed like the best bet." Sam finished, looking at Bobby expectantly.

"Yeah – well, you got that right - he _was_ one of them. But as you said, he never really overstepped the line thoroughly enough to warrant any…interference from our part – your dad and I made sure of that." Bobby hedged, having the strange feeling to having to justify himself. Which was nonsense, but still…

Sam shrugged, looking a little doubtful but being unable to call Bobby on it. He'd just about found out that his brother had been victim to a very human injustice – it was only normal that he wanted payback, wanted to find out who had done it, who'd tortured his own brother almost to death. Bobby couldn't really blame him.

"Yeah, looks like he didn't really manage to get into any deeper trouble till trouble found him instead."

At that Bobby had to stop Sam with a raised hand.

"Wait, what are you talking about, trouble found him?"

"Well, seems like you didn't keep track of him closely enough."

Bobby bit back a retort to the undoubtedly sharp tone of Sam's accusation and opted to hear him out first.

"A little over a year ago he got into yet another fight – picked up a brawl with a couple of guys in a bar and it appears like he'd overestimated his own strength just a little. Only that this time, the guys weren't willing to let off once _he_ was on the ground. They pretty much beat him to death, Bobby. He didn't die right away, though, was put on life support for a couple of weeks till his father decided to turn off the machines. Joe died two days later."

Bobby was a little dumbstruck.

"Huh – so…I didn't know that. But this would make perfect material for an angry spirit…dying violently, his dad turning off the machines – and he hadn't been the most stable person to begin with. So, it'd make sense for him to turn to his old _practices_ in death – going back to the one time he'd actually been able to live out his sick cravings…" Bobby concluded.

Sam flinched, face awash with emotions.

Again, Bobby knew where he was coming from. He remembered too vividly that day over a decade ago, when Sam had called him, had asked him to come and get them. There was no way to forget the way Dean had looked – body and mind broken yet unwilling to give in, to admit to being hurt, still believing it his place to watch out for his little brother. And Sam, on the other hand, who'd had no idea what had been going on, left with a brother that was hurting both inside and out, too young to be told the truth in the opinion of his stubborn brother, yet trying and succeeding in simply being there for Dean.

Bobby had come to get them, had taken them home, had nurtured them both back to health. And once he'd been done, John had made a gracious reappearance and had taken them away from him again. It had been his right – he'd been their father, after all, but Bobby hadn't been able to suppress the feeling of resentment at the man that had abandoned his boys when they'd needed him the most. For the first time in his life he'd confronted John Winchester about it. Which had turned out just great – namely in Bobby not seeing the boys again till about ten years later, under circumstances that were about as bad as back then.

Sam's voice ripped Bobby out of his memories.

"So, I think this is it – I think that's what Dean didn't want to tell me when I found him – what he tried to tell you when you got here. That he knew who'd done this to him – it can only be Joe."

Bobby nodded.

"I think you could be right. The MO fits – timeframe and location…it's our best bet. I take it that storage hall he'd been checking out when the spirit attacked him, it probably was the same house he'd been taken to back then. He never told me or your father where he'd been held, and maybe he didn't really know, but it could be it, considering the location where he was found by that woman... The puzzle pieces fit…"

Bobby nodded, as if to encourage himself, his mind reeling. It did fit. Dean had known. He had called Bobby about two weeks ago and had asked if the hunter had heard anything suspicious – and Bobby really should have know better than to think that he'd succeed in simply telling Dean to step back and wait for backup. He should have known that Dean wouldn't be willing to abandon this hunt as willingly. Especially not now...

"So, I take it you've found where he's been buried?" he asked, searching Sam's face for the answer he knew to be there already. The kid was sufficient, he wouldn't have stopped looking until he'd found out.

Sam smiled crookedly, a little proud of himself. He had every right to be.

"Yeah I did. Wasn't too hard. As I said – Joe's family is pretty big in this town. Even though they tried to keep it quiet, news about Joe's death and funeral did make the papers. The graveyard is a little ways outside of town. I could get there in under an hour, dig him up and burn him and be back before morning…"

Bobby held both hands up soothingly.

"Whoa – reign in your horses there, Clint. How about we make sure that it's really him, first, huh, save ourselves some time and work before digging up a body that never did nobody no harm? Lets wait for Dean to confirm our suspicions, why don't we? We make sure it's him, make sure Dean's over the hill, then we go and dig him up – if it was him – _together._ After everything that happened, we're not splitting up on this hunt anymore, Sam. We stick together. Don't think Dean would take too kindly to me letting you run off all by yourself."

"Like he has any right to make demands anymore." Sam spat, his eyes on fire.

"He lied to me, Bobby. He _lied_ to me. He went off by himself, even though he _knew_. He could have gotten himself killed – hell, he almost did get himself killed. Look at him – he's a mess. He's squandered his right to make demands anymore. I'm going to end this – for him. I'm going to get revenge. For him – and for me. Since he's not willing to get it for himself…"

Bobby had to agree with Sam's trail of thought, agreed because he was pissed with Dean for just about the same reasons, but that still didn't change the fact that he wasn't going to let Sam go off by himself, set for revenge.

"You guys need to cut the crap and stop going out, wreaking havoc in the name of your family, getting yourselves into greater danger than necessary and sit down to actually talk things through before you act. Nothing good has ever come of plunging into things unthinking. I know it's a Winchester thing – but you guys are smart, you can learn from your mistakes and make it better – unlike like your daddy…" Bobby said, eyeing Sam carefully.

He didn't mean to reproach, not full on, but there was some truth to his words, and Sam most likely knew it.

Still Sam look petulant, like the little kid Dean still believed him to be at times, and Bobby couldn't help but smile a little. The kid couldn't really be blamed – and it was mostly Dean's fault – and John's, too, that he still tried to pull his antics and actually even succeed at times.

"Listen, son, this is not open to discussion. You called me for help – and I came to help. But in turn you need to listen to me for once in your life and stay put for now. We'll wait for sleepy-head there to wake up, talk to him, then we decide on a plan of action – _together_. Then, you've got a free ticket to give Dean your mind about whatever the hell you like. Hell, count me in for it, too. But no more solo-runs, no more secrets. Cards on the table from now on. For all of us. How does that sound to you?"

Ah, how Bobby loved dishing out the orders every once in a while. He started to get John's appeal. And it worked, too, at least with those boys it did. Even though Sam looked just a little pissed and very much doubtful, he finally nodded reluctantly, fingers unclenching, smoothing them over the keyboard absentmindedly.

"Alright, cards on the table. And I do get to call him on it, right?" he jerked his chin over towards the bed, both hunters simultaneously turning towards Dean who'd remained blissfully oblivious to their traitorous agreement so far.

"Absolutely." Bobby agreed.

The smile Sam then graced him with was all the ratification Bobby needed.

OoOoOoO

Tbc

_AN:_

_So, I know it's one of those in-between-chapters that usually don't fare too well with the readers, but it's important to the story and had to be done, and I hope I didn't blow it. Chapters that are conversation-centered are always harder for me than the more descriptive chapters…I always worry that I don't get the _voices_ right, if that makes any sense. _

_So, I hope you heard the voices alright, and I hope you want me to go on and come back for more. _

_I'm still about to answer all those wonderful reviews from last weeks chapter – thanks again to all that took the time to tell me what you thought, I'm deeply in your debt. _

_So, love to you all and take care!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Hey- a little early this week - I hope you don't mind._

_Oh, and - I still don't own them...you'd be the first to know if it ever changes!_

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 10**

"For god's sake, Sam. I'm fine. I'm perfectly capable to go to the freaking bathroom by myself, don't need you to hold my…"

Dean's voice trailed off in a hiss of pain, a sharp intake of air that betrayed his words the second they'd left his mouth. He screwed his eyes shut, jaw set and nostrils flaring as he let Sam lower him onto the edge of the bathtub. Sam immediately shuffled to lean against him, to give him leverage and keep him from falling.

"Yeah, I can see how you're fine and all, but why don't we play it safe and you let me help you anyways? I don't think passing out in the bathroom is high up on your wish-list right now. Besides, I told you – I could have gotten you a bowl or a glass to pee into, but you didn't seem to be particularly found of that proposal either."

Sam smirked against the death glare that was shot his way, ducked his head a little but kept a firm grip on Dean's body, careful to avoid touching his back, to keep from jostling his side and shoulder any more than necessary.

"You'd like that, you sick bastard. Like a masochistic Mother Theresa in a 6'4 frame, dude."

Sam couldn't help the surprised that escaped him as he was assaulted by a very vivid imagery of Dean's slander.

"Want me to get out my garter belt and whip?"

At the word whip Dean flinched, and Sam could have bitten off his tongue at his own stupidity. But apologizing now would only serve to make the situation even more awkward, and Sam was pretty much done with awkward by now. He wanted Dean to feel safe and at ease – now more so than ever. So he chose to ignore the laden silence and barged on undeterred.

"Listen, I promise I won't question your masculinity if you let me help you. I'll even look the other way, if that makes you feel any better, even though I've really seen it all already. But there's no way around it. You either let me help you or I'll get Bobby in here and we'll have a big, old, bathroom-party. Somehow I don't think that'll be any less awkward…"

Dean groaned at the suggestion, jaw still set as he let his chin drop down, taking a breath that didn't seem to rattle quite as painfully inside his chest anymore. His ribs were still bruised and just had to be sore and hurting, but at least Sam didn't think that he'd obtained anything else but bruised and cracked ribs – none broken. Wasn't he the lucky one.

"Fine…fine. You do whatever you have to do. But rest assured that I'll store this away for later use…" Dean threatened half-heartedly and Sam had to smile.

"Yeah, me too!" Sam smirked, ignoring Dean's mumbled reply.

It really shouldn't have been awkward, and Sam didn't see it that way at all, but of course Dean would have a different opinion on the matter. For him, letting his brother take care of him was equalling a loss of control, and that again meant him not being the stronger, the older, the more experienced brother and hunter, the protector that he liked to see himself as, no matter what. Even beaten to a bloody pulp Dean wouldn't willingly give up on that position – the picture he had of himself.

Holding Dean upright while he attended his "business" was not easy at all and Sam considered for a second to really ask Bobby for help, but decided against it in the end. Dean would never forgive him if he did – even though Bobby had probably seen both of them in various states of undress, and he sure as hell knew the bladder works of a man as well.

Sam stood by and let Dean lean against him 'just a little' while he used the john, then flushed for him and closed the toilet lid before lowering Dean down on top of it, angling him sideways so his back wouldn't come to rest against the toilet tank behind him.

Sam had a quick mental image of Dean hoisting him up on a toilet hen he'd been barely 2, propping him up and holding onto him so he didn't fall into the bowl. They'd never had those toilet seats for little kids, with the steps and the special construction on top to accommodate much smaller butts than those of adults.

Sam had to shake his head, caught somewhere between smiling and smirking at the memory. And he definitely wasn't going to mention this little snippet of their past to Dean just now. Maybe later…

Dean, to give him credit, suffered through Sam's administrations heroically, jaw set and eyes fixed on a point on the tiled bathroom wall, muscles tense. But he was holding himself upright, managed to oblige to Sam's gentle instructions and nudges, moving his arms and legs to give Sam the space he needed.

Sam was kneeling on the floor next to his brother, cleaning his torso with a wet cloth, wiping away the remnants of blood and sweat and grime from his skin, careful to avoid the darkest bruises and cuts, the tender and still slightly swollen skin bordering the coarse stitches on his back. The slash across his back was healing fairly well now, only the deepest part of the wound still had Sam worried, had Bobby providing an seemingly endless supply of antibiotics and pain meds.

Dean looked like some kind of sick Frankenstein double, and while Sam was sure Dean would have probably liked the comparison, he couldn't get himself to say it out loud. The reality of it all was too gruesome to warrant too much joking – at least on Sam's part.

They'd cleaned the wounds before attempting the trip to the bathroom, had drained some of the infected pus-filled pockets on his shoulder and hip and while it still didn't look good, it _had _gotten better. At least Dean was coherent now, managed to take a couple of steps without keeling over, managed to say more than a word without passing out from pain. Still far from alright but…

Once Sam was done helping Dean to wash, he grabbed their first aid kit, which had been newly refilled with tons of bandages and gauze that Bobby had managed to snatch from god only knew where. Sam hadn't asked – and honestly couldn't care less.

"So, you want me to patch you up in here or you want to go back outside, lie down, let Bobby help?"

Sam caught Dean's eyes, held them as he waited patiently for his brother to answer. Under normal circumstances he'd never even considered asking, would have simply dragged his brother back into the room where it would be a hell of a lot more comfortable for him, no matter what Dean said. But there was something in Dean's behaviour, the way he let Sam help him without so much as really making an effort to stop him…

Dean still was a little…upset with Bobby – for telling Sam about the secret, even though he'd taken it far better than Sam would have thought – maybe a little too well. As a matter of fact, he hadn't said one word, had set his jaw and accepted their explanation with a curt nod. And while Sam knew that Dean would not manage to stay mad at one of the few men besides his own brother he considered a friend, he also knew that Dean would need a little time to get over the initial feeling of betrayal.

"Nah…get it done here. 'sides, you'll do fine by yourself…"

For whatever reason, Sam felt almost grateful that Dean let him do this, that he preferred for them to handle this on their own. There was an inexplicable feeling of relief in the relative privacy of the closed off bathroom, the close confinements that didn't feel oppressing at all, even though they were both more or less hindered in their movements.

Just the two of them.

"Alright, so, you'll need to turn around a little so I can get at your back."

Dean obliged quietly, only grunting a little as his side pinched painfully while he moved. Sam waited patiently, biting his lips and clenching his hands to not reach out and help Dean, knowing the need for him to do this by himself, however minor an act it seemed to be. But he knew his brother, knew that he'd want to do this…

Dean turned towards the sink, braced his left arm across the cool porcelain and leaned forward till his forehead rested against his forearm, right arm held to his side, back ramrod straight. Sam waited till Dean had settled, till the twitch in the muscles of his back died down to a reasonable level, indicating that the pain was once again pushed back behind a wall thick enough to hold them at bay for Sam to finish his work. Only then did he start applying the bandages again, carefully adding rectangle after rectangle along his brother's back, fixing them in place on top of a thick layer of antibiotic ointment with strip after strip of surgical tape.

Dean's skin was twitching every once in a while, silent shudders chasing themselves over the plane of his back, disappearing underneath the waistband of his boxers. He was still a bit warm to the touch, but it was nothing compared to the raging heat lighting him on fire less than 12 hours ago.

"So…" Dean cleared his throat, the width of muscle between his shoulders rolling once, then settling again. "So, Bobby told you…about my little secret…"

It wasn't a question but a statement, because Dean knew that Sam knew – they'd been over that already when both Sam and Bobby had presented Dean with the cold facts. But Sam recognized the statement for what it was – an introduction, an opening to talk. Coming from Dean, it came close to being a miracle.

Sam kept his eyes on Dean's back, his hands moving. The anger he'd felt when finding out about what Dean had been hiding from him had all but abated, strangely enough, had been replaced by tired resignation instead. He wanted to be mad, he really did, but the moment he felt the anger built up inside his chest, it was quenched again by the fear of what would happen, of what was going to happen in only a few too short months – the realization of what his brother had sacrificed for him, of what he was facing.

Dean would always, no matter what, do _anything_ for Sam, Sam knew that. It had always been that way – from the very first memory Sam had right up to the present day. So, however sick and twisted and wrong it seemed that he'd kept the occurrences back then to himself, Sam knew where it had come from. He knew. And he didn't find it in himself to reproach Dean for it – not right now, not with the all fervour he wanted to.

"Sam, you still back there?" Dean asked, turning his forehead against his arm, giving Sam a glimpse of long lashes, weighed down by tiny droplets of sweat, laying low against pale cheeks.

Sam picked up another patch of gauze, gently placing it against Dean lower left back, holding still as Dean sucked in a breath, releasing it slowly.

"Yes, I'm still here. And yes, Bobby told me - you know he did, we talked about it already." he said quietly.

Sam left it at that. For the moment.

Another couple of minutes later Dean broke the silence between them again.

"So, uhm…you're still collecting your thoughts, trying to make a list of all the things you're gonna call me for being so stupid and stubborn and…nhhh."

He broke off, bit back the sound of pain that had slipped from his lips a little too late.

Sam winced along with his brother, sympathy almost making him feel the pain as if it was raging through his own body as well.

"Sorry…and, yeah, I'm still getting my thoughts lined up so I don't forget anything I wanna throw at you." he said, voice calm and even.

Dean blinked, sighing silently.

"Alright…I guess…I deserve as much. So, I'm not out of the woods yet, I take it?"

"You can bet your ass you're not." Sam said, a hint of a smile coloring his voice.

"I figured as much." Dean sighed. "Only, bear in mind…you know…"

"Yeah, I know. Only a couple of months left to live – your dying wish, you're hurt and feverish…"

Sam slowly felt irritation creep over him, despite his best efforts, despite all the warm feelings he'd had just moments ago. How Dean managed to push his buttons so thoroughly, Sam had no idea. He'd always thought Dean was the short-fused one in their family, but maybe Sam wasn't all that much better. But Sam was just so tired of Dean not staying serious for once…

"This is getting old Dean, and fast. When the hell will you learn to trust me…?"

"I was gonna say…" Dean interrupted his brother with sudden vigour, muscles in his arm jumping "…bear in mind that it was a really long time ago – and you were still a kid, and I was still young and it was my job to protect you and…you know, I didn't know…"

"Didn't know what?"

"I didn't know that trusting you would have been my best option…that you would have been able to help, no matter how…no matter what you would have done."

That finally managed to shut Sam up. For good. He felt like the air had been ripped out of his lungs and he had to stop working on fixing up his brother's side, had to catch himself.

_This_ he hadn't counted on.

"I mean…don't get me wrong - god, this has to be the fever, I don't even know what I'm saying here – I don't regret a thing. Don't regret handling it the way I did – not really. It was the only way, at the time. I did it to protect you – us. Our family, Sam. It was the right thing, I did the right thing. I held us together. They would have torn us apart, if the police would have gotten wind of our _situation_…they'd have locked dad up, taken you away from me. I couldn't let that happen. You were still a kid, Sammy, you didn't need to know…and when dad left…"

He seemed to have lost his trail of thought, and Sam could see that it was only in parts to the fact that he was no doubt trying to justify what he knew had been wrong all along. He looked exhausted, beat, tired and hurt. But he also looked like he really, really wanted to make Sam understand what had driven him. And Sam thought, despite his best knowledge, despite his better judgement, that he got it. Even though he didn't really want to, but he understood Dean's intentions and purposes.

After a minute of silence, Dean went on as if he'd never stopped.

"You…you were having nightmares as it was, had just started to get into fighting with dad about _everything_, dude. If I told you that he'd left because he was ashamed of me…"

"He wasn't ashamed of you, Dean." Sam broke in, determination thick in his voice.

"Dad was a dick, Dean, and he was wrong so many times, I can't even begin to count them, but he was never, ever disappointed in you."

Dean shrugged, winced as the movement pulled on tender flesh.

"Doesn't matter now…not anymore. All that matters now…Sam, is that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone off on my own, I should have told you…but I didn't – and I think I paid the price for not trusting my pain in the ass little brother, don't you think…"

Ok, so definitely still the fever talking, because Dean would never, ever…

"It was Joe, Dean, Joe who did this to you – his spirit. Right?" Sam ventured carefully, fearing the moment still wasn't right. They hadn't delved as far into the topic earlier as Sam would have liked, had merely presented Dean with the fact that now Sam knew… But he really needed to know, needed that last confirmation.

And Sam knew he was walking a thin line.

If he barged ahead too quickly, he ran danger of losing Dean's willingness to talk again, of him clamming up and closing himself off again.

But, surprisingly enough, he was rewarded with a small nod, a whispered "Yeah" muffled by a sigh of exhaustion and defeat.

It was the biggest admission to Dean's still weakened state of body and mind that he didn't even wonder or inquire as to how Sam knew, that he just accepted that his little brother knew without questioning.

Sam nodded, finally finding his suspicions confirmed. And now that he knew, there was no doubt as to what needed to be done.

"Sam?"

Sam blinked, startled, finished taping the last gauze-pad into place, surprised as he realized that he'd continued his administrations as if on autopilot. Now that his hands were suddenly unoccupied, they felt too empty all of a sudden, robbed of their purpose and he wiped them on his jeans nervously, looking at the back of his brother's neck.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you… I promise it won't happen again…"

His voice was getting weaker, more sluggish by the minute. But there was honesty in Dean's words, heavy and heartfelt, peeking out through layers of drugs and exhaustion – and even though Sam knew that Dean trusted him, with his life even, it was still almost overwhelming to hear the confession passing Dean's lips.

"Well, alright…you know - thanks…good to know. That's good to know." Sam breathed, almost dizzy with emotions, unsure how to go on, how to get them out of this again without doing too much damage.

Before he knew what he was doing he'd planted a hand against Dean's neck, fingers splayed wide as he started to massage at the knots of tensed up muscle that had collected there.

At first, Dean seemed to tense up even more, but after a minute he relaxed into the motion and Sam could feel his breathing ease up, could see his lashes finally touch down and make full on contact with his cheeks as he gave in and closed his eyes.

"You'd make one hell of an awesome masseuse…" Dean breathed, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smile and Sam couldn't help but mirror the motion.

"Bite me." He said, continuing the attention for another second or two before laying off, watching as Dean pulled himself up sluggishly, but obviously more relaxed than before.

"So, you want me to help you shave?" The question was only in parts meant to be mocking, but Dean reacted just the way Sam had suspected – and secretly wished for.

"Yeah, right, sure – why don't you? Or maybe you'll just keep your fingers to yourself. You just want to rid me off my manly look, Sam. I think I'll keep the stubble – the girls are real found of that. Tickles them in places…"

"Awww, shut up, dude. _Come on…_Picture in my head - I'll never be able to sleep again."

"You should pay attention, kiddo – might still learn a thing or two."

"Oh, I think I'll pass, thank you very much!"

Dean smirked, shot Sam a look with his chin dipped low as he got up to his feet.

"Your loss, then." He grunted, taking a second to find his balance, standing slightly tipped forward but relatively steady nonetheless.

"Ready to get back in there? Face the firing squad?" Sam teased as he made to get up himself, deciding to clean up the mess he'd made later – or hope that Bobby would do it for him.

"The old man wouldn't be able to hit me if I was standing right in front of him." Dean snarked.

"Don't let him hear that. Might tempt him to give it a try."

The sound of Dean actually snorting a laugh, albeit subdued as he pushed open the door to their room was about the best thing Sam had heard in a long time.

And then, as suddenly as happiness had hit him, Sam had to fight off the sharp pang of pain that seemed to topple him over the edge whenever he saw his brother smile, let alone laugh lately. Because together with the joy it brought him, at the same time it inevitably made him realize what he was about to lose…

Sam swallowed hard, pushing back the tears threatening to claw their way to the surface as he closed the door to the bathroom carefully behind himself and his brother.

OoOoOoO

Sammy was pissed.

Full on - bitch-face and sulking posture – the whole nine yards.

And he was anything but subtle about it.

Not that Dean could have cared any less…

Bobby didn't quite look as if he approved either, but again Dean just couldn't get himself to care. Because honestly - he was pissed too. Pissed that they teamed up against him like that – and pissed that they would even consider this in the first place – and had the guts to think Dean would play along with it willingly. Which had to have been clear as a bell from the beginning he wouldn't.

And now, to make Dean suffer for his stubbornness, both of his fellow hunters had decided that, if Dean wanted to be a part of this hunt, he had to prove it in getting himself dressed and ready, in walking out to the damn car (and his baby would forgive him for using that term – but he really was in a fair amount of pain here…) by himself. Which had sounded like a fair enough trade in the beginning, but turned out to be a hell of a lot harder than he'd anticipated.

Dean really had thought that at least Bobby would level with him on his decision – but apparently he was surrounded by not only one, but two stubborn, narrow minded jerks now – which was just his luck.

Sam had been gracious enough to help Dean with his jeans and shoes, so he didn't need to bend over too far, but the help had stopped there and now Dean was left to struggle with his shirt by himself. Both Bobby and Sam were hovering, he could feel their stares boring into his back, while they pretended to pack their gear – but Dean wasn't going to ask for help again.

It was painful going, struggling first his right arm, then his left into the sleeves of his comfortably worn brown Henley. It was a bitch pulling the thing over his head, his back pulling and screaming at the unwelcome movement of muscles, stitches pulling at tender flesh, making it hard to keep up the appearance of relative calm that he'd wanted to portray more than anything right now.

Because there was no way they were going to leave him behind, no way he was to be cut out from this hunt.

No way.

When he finally had the damn garment over his head and settled into place, Dean took a moment to catch his breath and unscrew his face from what he was sure had to be twisted into all kinds of weird shapes with the sheer effort it took to get dressed. His back felt like it was on fire, skin shrinking in on him, pulling taut over muscles that hadn't been there just days ago.

But he could do this. He _was_ going to do this.

They'd wasted too much time as it was, had given Dean another night until setting out to do what Dean had insisted on doing last night already. Another night during which Joe might have found himself another victim. The only reason Dean was pretty confident now that things had at least worked in their favor on one part, was the fact that it had rained pretty steadily over the past three plus days. Which would make finding another victim in the woods pretty damn hard, or so Dean hoped. Surely, nobody would be stupid enough to wander the forest in the pouring rain, right?

So far the papers had stayed empty of any new disappearances, Dean had made sure to check it himself, not quite trusting his two companions on the matter anymore.

Dean straightened himself carefully, thankful for the old pair of jeans he'd found at the bottom of his duffel, the one that was a size too big and hung pretty damn low on his hips, made him look like he was wearing one of Sam's baggy ones. But they were a blessing now, giving him the chance to wear pants in the first place, without aggravating the pretty impressive wound in his side. He sure wasn't going to wear a belt for a while to come.

Dean ran the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away the beads of sweat that had collected on his upper lip before scrubbing the palm over his whole face, feeling the already retreating lump on his temple where Joe had knocked him out cold. God, it felt like a month ago – and only yesterday all at the same time – his thoughts all so scrambled up from the fever, the flashbacks…but it had been, what, three, four days ago? Yeah, that sounded about right.

"Dean?"

Dean flinched, let his hand drop from his face and straightened up even more.

He could do this.

"Yeah…ready. I'm ready. Let's get moving."

He didn't turn to face his brother and friend though, waited for the inevitable question.

"You sure you're up for this? This is just a simple salt and burn – we could easily do this on our own. You don't have to torture yourself like this, Dean." Bobby offered carefully.

Dean closed his eyes in frustration, letting out a steadying breath. He wasn't going to snap at them – not again. He honestly lacked the energy to get into yet another argument about him coming along on this hunt.

This was his hunt – _his business_. One of the few things he had left to do – that he had to do before…

He was not going to be left behind.

"I'm sure, Bobby. We've been through this. I'm sure. I wanna waste the fucker – if it's the last thing I do…"

Ok, now, that might have been a tad inappropriate. Dean could feel the frown plastered onto his companion's faces. Yeah, ok, definitely inappropriate.

"'kay…maybe not the last. But I want to…I have to do this. I told you. I let you dig him up, leave all the work to you guys. But I'm gonna light him on fire, watch him shrivel and burn to a sorry crisp. You won't take that away from me – you _can't_ take that away from me."

And hell if he didn't sound like a petulant little kid there, but he was just so tired of having to explain himself over and over again. He thought they'd got it…

"Alright, then, we should probably get going. The cemetery will close in about an hour. We can make sure we find the grave before they lock up, then wait for darkness to cover our tracks."

Sam sounded defeated, resigned.

_Finally._

Dean released a heavy sigh of relief. Because, honestly, if they'd actually decided to leave him behind – take the cars and walk out on him, he'd have stood no chance. There was no way he would have been strong or fast enough to follow them – to _make_ them take him along. He plastered the brightest smile possible onto his face, turned around and faced the two hunters that looked everything but happy. Which only served to make Dean's smile ever the brighter – and more heartfelt.

"Good. So, what are we waiting for?"

OoOoOoO

_AN:_

_Alright, so I hope I made up for last chapter, if you found that one too short or too boring._

_To deangirl1 - here's some more "Dean" for you...I actually planned on putting the first part of this chapter up as a second part in chapter 9 - I was fully convinced I'd uploaded it all. then I read your review - saying how you would have wanted to have Dean in the chapter. It had me wondering, so I checked...and damn if I hadn't plainly left the second part of the chapter out! Maybe it would have turned out better with this in it?? Anyways, here it is now, I hope you like it!_

_As always, thanks and love to all those who took and will take time to read and review, you are my heroes!_

_Hope you enjoyed, and if everything works out as planned, I'll have the next chapter ready very soon!_


	11. Chapter 11

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 11**

Joe's grave lay in a pretty secluded corner of the cemetery, but it was reasonably illuminated by the almost full moon that peeked through the cover of clouds every now and then, bathing the whole graveyard into an eerie, silvery light. It made digging as easy as it got since they didn't need to rely solely on the light of a couple of flashlights perched precariously atop a gravestone or duffel bag. Or in the hands of Dean, who sat leaning against Joe's headstone, left shoulder against the slab of granite, back as straight as possible as he tried to keep his balance without touching any part of his body that would hurt. Which didn't leave him with too many options, unfortunately.

Bobby paused in his work, leaning on his shovel as he wiped at beads of sweat collecting on his forehead, tugging his ball cap back in place when he was done. He watched Dean from the corner of his eyes as he shuffled over, giving up his position in order to let Sam dig his own shovel into the dirt in his stead. Bobby hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the grave, taking a swig of the water bottle that Dean handed over to him.

Dean looked a bit pale, his eyes well hidden underneath long lashes, lips slightly parted over clenched teeth. His freckles stood out a little too prominently in his still bruised face, the moonlight probably only enhancing the effect even further.

"Thanks." Bobby muttered when he'd drained the bottle, crunching it up and dropping it on the pile of dirt next to him.

So far Joe had failed to make an appearance – which was unusual, but just as well. Bobby was old (and wise) enough to not need the action anymore, more than content with a salt and burn going smoothly and without incident. The young ones always liked to shoot something, Bobby knew that, but right now he was pretty sure that even Dean – adrenaline junky that he was more than alright to have this over and done with without any further disturbances.

They were almost done – only a foot or two more and they should have uncovered his coffin. Bobby really wanted this done as fast as possible, bringing this whole damn mess to a close. They had other things to worry about, other _vital_ things, matters of life and death, so to speak. And they still weren't one step closer to finding a solution…

The clunk of Sam's shovel hitting something solid reverberated loudly through the otherwise still night, making Bobby start out of his thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dean flinch, then tense as well as the kid gripped his shotgun which he'd kept lying in his lap, closing his fingers around the hilt in preparation.

Almost done.

Bobby eased himself down into the grave again, determined to help Sam with the last shovels of dirt, digging in with renewed vigour now that the end was finally in sight.

Ten minutes later the lid of the coffin was laid free – and for once luck was on their sides as the coffin was made of ordinary wood and not one of those modern, vault-like caskets that would have been a bitch to get into. Apparently, for all his family's wealth, Joe hadn't gotten too big a piece of the cake his father had baked.

Bobby was dimly aware of Dean shuffling awkwardly closer to the grave, shoulder still against the headstone as he angled himself to be able to peer into the hole and keep track of Bobby's and Sam's progress.

Bobby scraped the remaining dirt off the lid, then stepped back to hoist himself out of the grave again while Sam drove the tip of his shovel into the wood, managing to crack it but not shattering it completely. It took another three or four full-force swings that had Sam grunting with effort until the surprisingly sturdy wood gave way and Sam's shovel slipped into the interior of the casket, momentarily getting stuck there.

Sam was working hard on prying the shovel free, when suddenly an icy wind swept over Bobby's back, making the hair on the back of the hunter's neck stand on end.

"Bobby, down!" Dean's voice was a harsh command and Bobby reacted instinctively, trusting without questioning as he dropped to the ground just seconds before the boom of a shotgun almost deafened the older hunter.

Damn it.

"Dean!" Sam's voice came dulled from within the freshly dug grave he was still protected by and Bobby rolled himself over, his own shotgun at the ready while yelling towards the direction of the youngest Winchester:

"Stay down, Sam…salt and douse him and fucking set him on fire – NOW."

Bobby's voice brooked no argument and thankfully Sam, for once, didn't dare to argue with him.

Another shot cut through the night, followed by a grunt of pain and Bobby's feverishly searched the immediate surrounding of the grave, looking for Dean. He'd been here - right next to the fucking headstone just a second or two ago…

The space was empty now, but there were clear sounds of distress coming from somewhere behind the headstone of an adjoining grave, spurring Bobby into action quick as lightening. He was on his feet and around the huge and bulgy slap of granite of the neighbouring grave in an instant, only to find himself face to face with the deceased, live and in person – or at least the ghostly apparition of Joe Stinetti.

Bobby only knew him from pictures, and while he hadn't been the best looking man to begin with, the pictures still didn't even come close to who Bobby was facing now.

Joe was right there, in front of him, the side of his face that was turned towards Bobby disfigured by a large gash on his forehead, a shattered cheekbone and an impressively split and swollen lip. He didn't seem to have taken notice of Bobby yet, all his attention focused intently on Dean, who he had pinned against the large and unshapely stony boulder of a praying angel, almost translucent hands closed in an seemingly iron grip around the young man's throat.

Dean was struggling, gagging his shotgun at his feet as both his hands were clasped around Joe's wrists, trying to pry them away from his throat.

His lips were parted in a desperate attempt to draw in air, his feet shuffling for enough leverage to get the man off of him. His face was scrunched in pain and Bobby could only imagine the pain he must have been in, his tortured back pressed against the praying hands of the weeping stone angel…

Bobby didn't waste another minute but took aim at the ghost, aiming the muzzle of the gun towards Joe's head, high and a little off center in order to not hit Dean and add even further to his injuries. The load of rock salt barely hit the apparition – scraping the back of his head only, but it all Bobby wanted was a short reprieve from the spirits strangling hands, only wanted to get him the fuck away from Dean.

Joe dissolved with an angry screech and a whoosh of ice cold air prickling Bobby's skin and he couldn't quite make the one big step to catch Dean before he slid to the ground, slumped forward to take some of the pressure off his back, hands braced on the ground in front of him.

He was on all fours, gulping and hacking, trying desperately to bring some air to his starving lungs again.

Bobby was on the ground next o his friend, hand hovering over the young man's shoulder, remembering at the last moment that touching him there wouldn't be a smart move right now – and not for a while to come.

"Dean…hey, you alright?"

Tragic eyes rolled up to meet Bobby's, words still lost between harsh and painful breaths, arms shaking ever so slightly as he reached for his shotgun despite barely being able to move at all, starting to push himself back up to his feet.

Bobby huffed in frustration, but knew full well that there was no use in telling the stubborn, mule-headed Winchester to stay down, so he reached to help Dean stand on wobbly legs again.

"Sam…?" Dean rasped, wincing, and Bobby winced right along with him at the raw sound that was his brother's name.

"Digging and burning…come on, let's make sure we have his back."

Another gust of wind hit them both, sending them to their knees and Bobby had to shout at the top of his lungs to be heard over the roar of wind and the clattering of object flying around the graveyard all of a sudden, hitting headstones and trees, toppling over lovingly placed floral arrangements and candles.

"Sam, what the hell is taking you so long?"

"Coming out – gotta give me cover…" he shouted back and it was only a second till Bobby could see the shaggy head peer over the edge of the grave before the kid hauled his too tall figure out of the hole with an ease that made the older hunter just a tiny bit jealous.

Sam hadn't even waited for Bobby's confirmation – in their line of work they learned to trust in situations like this, and Sam definitely knew that both Bobby and even Dean, with his dying breath, would give him all the cover he needed to finish any job, ever. Both had proven it more than once already.

As soon as Sam had cleared the grave's edge he was already striking the first match before even being back on his knees, hands cupped around each other to keep the flame burning in the crazy whirlwind of freezing gusts that raged all around them all of a sudden. The air felt like it was loaded with electric static, prickling and ice-cold.

Damn, Joe was powerful – Bobby had clearly underestimated him. Which had been a mistake, most definitely, and a rooky one at that – after all they'd had a pretty decent display of what the stupid fuck was capable of…

When the match had finally caught the flame, Sam lit the whole damn pack of matches on fire before dropping it into the depths of the grave. He immediately covered his head with his arms as the flames screamed and screeched, angry fingers of fire gripping for Sam, trying in vain to get a hold on anything within their reach to be consumed with quick efficiency.

Bobby and Dean mirrored Sam's motion, shielding their eyes and turning away from the heat emanating from the grave.

The fire was almost white hot – Sam had apparently gone a little overboard with both salt and igniter fluid - and it didn't take long before the flames had exhausted themselves and eaten away everything within their reach.

When the flames had finally died down to a smouldering see of red that barely grazed the open lips of the grave anymore, everything was suddenly quiet. It was as if the night had been robbed of its breath, its voice, night-time noises sucked into the grave along with the heat retreating into the depths of the damp ground.

After a minute of absolute silence, Bobby dared to lift his head again, picking himself off the ground carefully while looking around with stinging eyes. He could see Sam doing the same, the kid brushing off his jeans and shirt as his eyes frantically flickered over the graveyard, finding first Bobby, then something else behind the older hunter. He started forward before Bobby could as much as turn his head.

Only a second later a low, definitely pissed off groan reached Bobby's ears and before he even had time to be concerned about Dean, the young man's curses and expletives made him smile. As long as he still had that foul mouth on him, he couldn't be all that bad off…

"Please tell me you wasted the sucker, 'cause I swear to god …"

Dean was huffing and still a bit gravelly sounding, but he seemed to be alright, otherwise. Sam was fussing over him in his best style, giving him glares whenever Dean moved but finally relenting and helping his brother to his feet again. Dean stood, a bit shaky and definitely in need of a serious dust-off, but he did so on his own two feet. It had to be enough. After this they all deserved time to recoup. Bobby only needed to make sure that those two did it properly this time around.

"Seems quiet enough to me." Bobby grumbled, once again turning himself around, checking their surroundings.

Slowly, nocturnal sounds were taking over the formerly silent as dead night again, birds and critters picking up on their nightly concert now that the imminent danger was gone.

It _felt_ safe.

The three hunters shared a look, a breath.

It was over.

Dean was the first to turn away, setting his jaw, his throat bobbing for a second before he forced his lips to unclench again.

He looked…deflated, for a lack of better words…but he didn't look relieved.

Maybe it just took a while for him to let go of this – of something that had been with him for so long.

It had to feel strange, almost, to walk without that burden all of a sudden. Even though, Bobby knew, Joe had only been one of them. Only one piece of the puzzle. Still it had to be a strange feeling…

"Alright, let's get back to the cabin, then." Sam cut through the laden silence, threw a pointed look at Bobby, who didn't miss the way Dean huffed and rolled his eyes as his brother. But he didn't speak up to correct Sam, and that alone was a clear enough sign for Bobby that he wasn't all that opposed to getting back to bed as soon as possible.

Hell, he _had_ to be hurting still.

"Tell you what – you guys go back, get Dean settled in and then Sam can come and pick me up again. I'll just finish up here, fill the grave back in, cover our tracks. Shouldn't take me more than a couple of hours."

Sam looked more than a little doubtful, as did Dean, but in the end, Bobby had a far easier time convincing both Winchester's to finally call it quits and give in to his call. Which, again, spoke volumes as to their current states of both body and mind.

"I'll be back as fast as I can, help you clean up." Sam promised and Bobby only grumbled something like '_you better be'_, before shooing them off.

He stood for a minute watching their retreating backs, Dean's slightly slumped and definitely listing sideways, Sam's like a pillar, making sure Dean didn't fall until they were finally back in the safety of the Impala's rump.

Only then did Bobby turn around and start the tedious task of shovelling all the earth they'd so painstakingly removed from the grave back into the hole, choking out the still lingering flames.

God, he loved those boys more than was normal for a guy that never wanted to have kids to begin with.

Those Winchesters _definitely_ were going to be the end of him one day.

OoOoOoO

Dean woke to what had become an all too familiar level of pain coursing through his body, a constant pull of skin and muscle on his back and side that never seemed to be able to be shut off completely anymore.

And last nights activities certainly hadn't helped his body to heal further, unfortunately.

And, as usual over the past months, there was something else, a deep, underlying blanket of…unease…fear, that remained well buried for the most part but still managed to make its presence known especially in the early hours of a new day. Another day closer…

Dean waited for what felt like an eternity, lying flat on the bed, face squished into the pillow, hoping for the pain to recede again, for sleep to carry him away once more. It wasn't as bad as it had been only a couple of days ago, was a walk in the park compared to that, really, but it still was insistent enough to not let him drift off again.

After about 30 minutes Dean finally gave up.

Sitting up still was kinda tricky, especially when he'd been lying down, but he tried to be quiet about it, his eyes skimming the still dark room to find his brother splayed out on the rug in front of the fireplace like a giant, shaggy sheepdog, limbs akimbo and tangled into one of the comforters, face relaxed in sleep. Bobby lay on the bed next to Dean's, ball cap still perched crookedly on his head, hands folded on his belly.

They were exhausted, Dean knew. Sam had dropped him off early last night – or early this morning - had gone back to help Bobby fill Joe's grave back in. They'd returned at around 8 o clock am, dirty and tired, had taken a shower and had slept for a couple of hours only before again getting up to not waste any daylight, as Bobby had called it.

Dean had no idea what the two had been doing all day, but they'd seemed rather busy, and he simply didn't have it in him to hold them back, so Dean had slept and eaten, had watched some soap opera on the far too grainy TV before giving up again. They didn't even have cable out here – could you believe it?

It was now close to midnight the same day, and both Bobby and Sam had been out as lights again fairly early that night, catching up on some much needed sleep.

Dean didn't begrudge them their coma-like slumber. They'd worked long and hard enough for it. Sam barely slept while Dean had been out for the count, he knew that, plus he'd spent the whole last day fussing about Dean some more, too, had made sure he'd had everything he needed without being forced to set as much as a foot out of bed unless he had to go take a leak.

They'd decided to leave the next morning, go to Bobby's, regroup, Bobby telling Dean he needed some help with a couple of cars he'd gotten a hold of. It actually did sound kind nice – a couple of days off and some greasy hoods to stick his head and hands under, and Dean found himself actually looking forward to it.

It would give Sam some time to unwind, to let down his guard, his ever present state of alter, now that Dean wasn't able to claiming the position of protector for himself. At Bobby's, they'd both be able to let go a bit, take a breath.

God knew Sammy needed it. And maybe, Dean needed it, too.

_And_ Dean really wished that he could sleep as obliviously as those two did right now.

They were both out cold, both snoring not so softly at all.

Dean smirked. He really wanted to snap open his phone, film those two to use it in times of need, but first things first.

A bathroom-trip and some pills, then a couple of minutes till they kicked in, before he'd be able to do much of anything at all.

It all took a little longer that Dean was used to, his body not quite obeying his commands just as willingly as it used to, moving stiffly and painfully, sometimes outright disobeying the commands his brain sent its way. It was damn frustrating, that's what it was, and Dean found himself sitting at the small table in the corner of the cabin about 15 minutes later, pills swallowed, body tense, to wait for the effect to finally kick in.

He'd never had been good at waiting.

He'd never been good at doing nothing, either.

And since there was nothing much to do besides sit and just stare ahead into the dark room, Dean flipped open Sam's laptop that sat abandoned and humming lightly on the tabletop in front of him. The little digital clock on the bottom of the desktop announced the time to be 11.04 pm. God, another eight to ten hours of sleep, _at least_, were exactly what Dean craved right now, more than anything. As soon as those damn pills did their work...

Dean briefly considered surfing the net for porn but quickly discarded the idea as he really didn't feel like it, strangely enough. That, plus the fact that Sam and Bobby were still sleeping in the same room, and mute porn just wasn't any fun to watch at all.

He called up some of the pages Sam had saved in his favourites, skimming them without really reading, waiting, when suddenly the newsflash of a local online newspaper caught his eye. The second, closer look confirmed what he'd first thought to be just a trick of his tired and drugged up brain.

Another person had been taken – a young woman. Apparently, she'd been taking an early morning walk with her dog and had failed to return home to her husband and child again. Of course, officially, it wasn't even a missing person's case yet, she'd hadn't been gone long enough, was an adult woman that wouldn't be officially declared missing for a while to come. Family and police had searched the immediate area but couldn't do much more till the ominous 24 hour period. It could just be a regular disappearance, she could have run away from her family, hell, she could have very well fallen into a ditch or off a cliff.

But Dean _knew_.

Inside, he knew.

Call it gut-feeling or sixth sense – but he just _knew_.

He thought his heart stopped, and he must have blanched to a pretty impressive chalky white when he looked at the time she'd apparently vanished.

It had been this morning, at about 07.30 AM.

Long_ after_ Joe had been burned to a crispy heap.

Which could have served to make Dean believe in a perfectly normal explanation - only, _again_, it didn't quite work that way.

Dean felt his heart rate quicken, his breath getting stuck in his throat.

Joe was still…well, not alive, not exactly – but definitely still up and kicking. Damn. Something hadn't worked out as planned – which really shouldn't serve to shock him anymore, considering their history, but somehow it worked pretty well in making him panic this time.

Later, Dean would decide to blame it on the drugs coursing impressively through his system for days on end now, the pain sill making him a bit hazy, the overall confusion that had a death-grip on his already mangled brain. But no matter what he would choose to blame it on later, one fact remained the same, no matter what:

The next thing Dean knew, he was sitting in the car – Bobby's car, for it had been parked behind the Impala, blocking the exit – painfully straight so his back wouldn't touch the backrest, gently guiding the car out of the parking spot in front of the cabin. How he'd gotten dressed, jeans and t-shirt, even shoes, he didn't remember. Didn't want to know, either. All he knew, all that mattered was the fact that both Sam and Bobby apparently were still asleep, and Dean was on his way towards that cursed hell house again, trying to determine if his suspicions were a mere imagination of his boiled brain or in fact very much true.

He hoped, with all his heart, it was the first.

But inside, he knew…

Sam was going to kill him. Bobby too, come to think of it.

Either way, he wasn't going to get out of this alive.

Dean raised his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side as he mused at himself.

_Yeah definitely not going to get out of this alive._

But at least it would end at the hands of his friends, not some stinking hellhounds tearing him to shreds…

Dean covered the distance to the little side road that he knew led towards the cabin without being aware of much, occupying his mind with making up explanations for his incoherent behaviour. Because, honestly, what the hell was wrong with him, again not trusting his brother and friend enough to let them in on this? He'd practically given his brother a goddamn oath, had sworn to not sneak behind his back anymore… Why the hell did he always have to play the fucking hero here?

But maybe he _was_ wrong, maybe he was imagining things, looking for hunts, for problems were in reality non existed. Maybe Joe was dead and gone, not bothering anybody anymore. Which was why he decided to check it out alone, to not turn around and wake his brother, take him along on the journey. Which, yeah, probably a mistake – but since he was already on his way…

At least the pills had kicked in, finally, which maybe helped to explain his sudden take-off as well. He knew he tended to get a little…unreasonable when on pain meds – and those pills Bobby had scored where pretty darn strong. So, that had to be it. Would be the explanation he'd try to sell Sam and Bobby as well - if he ever got the chance, that was.

Dean was so lost in his flitting thoughts, so distracted by musings and what-ifs, that he didn't see the dark and looming form suddenly blocking the path, the car's headlights illuminating the barely recognizable form in the overgrown road far too late.

When he finally did, there was hardly any time left to react anymore.

He jumped onto the breaks with a shout of surprise, practically every muscle in his body tensing up as he braced himself against the impact that was unavoidable.

The car swerved and skittered sideways, a small fountain of leaves and loose earth kicking up, before abruptly coming to a sudden stop when the rear bumper slammed into the fallen trunk of a huge tree lying across the street.

Suddenly all went silent.

OoOoOoO

tbc

_AN:_

_Today, I wasn't sure I'd be able to post at all - I was so dissatisfied with myself, this chapter, the whole story (maybe life in general...who knows)_

_Then, as I started my computer to at least spellcheck the chapter, my harddrive crashed, taking with it all my photos and, most importantly, all my fanfic-documents I already wrote and of course didn't save anywhere else but on my laptop._

_First, I panicked. Then, maybe, I hyperventilated a little, but my awesome, amazing, wonderful brother in law managed to not snap my neck while actually fixing the computer, with me breathing down his neck, saying over and over again that this is just the typical end to a typical week in my typical life... anyways, he's a saint, and he fixed it - so I dedicate this chapter to him, even though he'll never know..._

_At least it showed me that I actually, truly, do still care about this._

_Right now I have a hard time accepting the fact that I just can't do any better than this, that no matter how hard I try, can't improve my writing, that I actually get worse instead of better._

_Thanks to those who still encourage me, it means so much. _

_I'll be gone for a little while - vacation, and as soon as I'm back I'll have the next chapter ready, if you want to read. _

_thanks for listening. Don't think I'm crazy (even though - yeah, i might be...) I'll probably delete this AN tomorrow..hope nobody remembers..._


	12. Chapter 12 The thing about hindsight

_I'm back, but sadly enough I still don't own anything. I did my best to keep the mistakes to a minimum. You be the judge if I managed to do so at all!_

_Thanks to all that are still reading - thanks for everything._

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 12**

_what happened before:_

_Dean was so lost in his flitting thoughts, so distracted by musings and what-ifs, that he barely saw the obstacle lying across the small and overgrown path, blocking his way._

_He jumped onto the breaks, with a shout of surprise, practically every muscle in his body tensing up as he braced himself against the impact that was almost unavoidable. The vehicle swerved and skittered sideways before abruptly coming to a sudden stop when the rear bumper slammed into the fallen trunk of a huge tree lying across the street._

_Suddenly all was silent._

OoOoOoO

The impact wasn't very hard, the car merely bouncing off the obstacle blocking its path before coming to a sudden standstill. Still Dean was left dumbstruck for a second or two after, the car's engine idling noisily in the otherwise still of the night.

Dean had to shake his head a couple of times, fighting the nauseating pull of dizziness clouding his brain till he managed to clear it enough to be able to hear again, his ears popping open almost painfully.

_Damn it._

Finally, he let out a swell if curses worthy of the most hardened sailor. Most of the words were lost in a hacking fit of coughing, but since there was nobody there to hear them anyways, it didn't really matter.

One look out the window told Dean that damn tree he'd hit was huge, big enough to make it almost impossible to overlook,- and definitely big and heavy enough so Dean wouldn't be able to manoeuvre it out of the way himself, not even if he was at his physical best. Which, certainly, today he wasn't, not even by a long shot.

With a groan and another bagful of curses Dean finally killed the engine and wrenched the driver's door open, folding himself carefully out of the car. His back was stiff and pulling painfully, shoulder trembling, but he managed to stand, more or less steadily, after only a second or two.

How in god's name could he have missed the goddamned tree? However had he managed to, once again come pretty damn close to ending his life even earlier than already planned?

But he was alright – as alright as he could be, considering.

Bobby's car on the other hand…

It wasn't beyond repair, most definitely, certainly far from being a total loss and definitely still drivable, but the back bender was dented and scratched visibly. There'd be no way he could get this by Bobby unnoticed. Not to mention, that he'd taken it unasked in the first place, sneaking out on his own brother and his best friend in the middle of the night, still hurt, to hunt a freaking spirit that had done nothing but harm him so far. Yeah, this was definitely going to sit just freaking great with both his fellow hunters. Was definitely going to earn him a jar-full of bonus points where he was headed, too.

As if he hadn't filled his share already.

"Goddamn fucking _nature_, sneaking up on me like that…" Dean muttered breathlessly, while already fumbling his hastily packed duffel out of the car's back seat. He ignored his own grunts of pain as he leaned over, his back pulling and tearing, protesting every single movement he made. He didn't dare sling the duffel's straps over his shoulder, still weary of the injuries and opted to grab it tightly with his left hand instead, amazed at how damn heavy it was.

He weighed the shotgun loaded with rock-salt in his right hand, shifting it until it set comfortably in his palm without moving his shoulder any more than necessary, a reassuring presence lending him an enormous amount of strength.

Almost like having Sam by his side, watching his back.

Almost – but not quite.

_Nothing_ ever came even close to that.

Dean winced at the thought of his little brother, sleeping in blissful oblivion still, deeming Dean safe for the time being, thinking that he'd still be by his side by the time he woke up.

Dean couldn't even believe how damn stupid he'd been, taking off like that.

The thing about hindsight…

There was no use chastising himself now. Too late for remorse. Again. One could think that Dean was old enough to actually learn from his mistakes – all those things again coursing through his mind that he still wanted to tell his brother. But, in reality, he knew that it would never come to that. He'd never tell Sam exactly how he felt about everything - the whole deal, life and death and Hell. He didn't, _couldn't _lay that on his little brother. He simply refused to burden him with something as simple as this. If Sam didn't know Dean well enough, now would certainly be too late to enlighten him.

Dean rounded the roadblock on slightly unsteady feet, gaining strength with every step he took, purpose driving him forward, helping him push past the weakness of his body. He decided to walk in the shadow of the underbrush flanking the road to stay under the cover of darkness a little longer.

Not that it would matter.

Certainly not to a ghost. If Joe wanted to find him, he most certainly would.

But old habits were hard to shake, and Dean was really in no condition to go exploring new habits now of all times. He just wanted this over and done with.

Preferably, he'd be back at the cabin before Sam and Bobby ever even woke up, never realizing that he'd been gone in the first place. Then, maybe, he'd manage to explain away the ruined car somehow – Dean always had been inventive. Maybe he could blame it on a wild boar running amok or something?

Yeah, that sounded pretty damn believable – given that there even were wild boars in this part of the country. But he'd worry about this little part of his story later. Once everything was over – ended peacefully and without any more casualties.

He'd find Joes newest victim, alive, return her to her happy family, burn the cabin, walk out of this as hero of the day.

Only, when had things ever gone smoothly for him?

OoOoOoO

The way sure as hell had gotten a lot longer than Dean remembered.

Or maybe his steps had gotten shorter…hard to tell.

His feet dragged a little and he wasn't really walking but shuffling along, slightly hunched over, his right arm pressed against his side to keep the shoulder as immobile as possible yet still gripping the shotgun tightly in his fist, ready to whip it up and fire it, regardless of anything.

Dean hoped, he really hoped, that he was right about this, that Joe hadn't gone into the light because he was still bound to the goddamn torture cabin – and not something else, like a lock of hair that his mother had kept to remember him by.

But either way, Dean had every intention to burn the freaking shack to the ground - with what little resources he had, because in his rush to leave Dean hadn't thought to bring more than a pretty unimpressive flask of lighter-fluid.

The structure finally came into view on the edge of his vision Dean was surprised at the cold shiver suddenly racing up his spine, the sudden tightness of his throat. This was not _normal_. And he wasn't talking about supernaturally _abnormal_, he was talking not humanly normal – to wuss up all of a sudden at the sight of a simple, dilapidated building. He couldn't believe himself.

He was about to go to hell – _Hell_ – in some too short months, how was he going to prevail if he couldn't even get a grip on himself now?

He was debating with himself, trying to persuade his mind to man up and get the hell over it. He did think that he still kept up a close enough surveillance of his surrounding, thought that his mind was still trained and focused on the ground underneath his feet, the sounds around him, ready for Joe's ghost to reappear.

But all it took was a fain sound behind him, a slight rustle of leaves and Dean stumbled, the tip of his boot catching on a root sticking out of the ground, tripping him. He was stumbling for a step, painfully trying to remain his balance, realizing too late that it was useless already.

He lost his already precarious grip on the duffel as he tried to find a little leverage against one of the trees growing so close and still so far away as he tried to spin his body around in a last attempt to do as little damage as possible. He made an almost full turn before it became too much and he dropped to one knee, cracking it hard on a probably tiny piece of pebble that still managed to penetrate the thick fabric of his jeans and at least a couple of layers of skin.

Out of the corner of his eyes he thought he saw movement, thought he saw a figure standing half hidden by a tree, watching him with cold, measuring eyes. He had no idea if the image was real or if it was an imagination of his mind, born out of fear and fever and panic. He wasn't able to fully process what he saw, but in the end, Dean thought he could be fucking proud of him, really, because as hard as he fell, as weak as he felt, he was up and aware quicker than he'd ever thought possible. Before his body ever hit the ground he brought the shotgun up with one swift movement and fired a round of rock-salt towards the space where he'd seen the apparition.

The recoil of the gun had Dean flailing backwards and he hit the ground hard, a painful grunt escaping his lips as his muscles spasmed with the impact, stitches pulling and tearing, nerve endings screaming and drowning out any other sound for a moment. For endless seconds all he could do was lie there and catch his breath, but his eyes were already frantically roaming the surrounding area, searching for Joe, trying to determine if he'd manage to hit him, if he was still around.

The woods stayed eerily quiet, even the usual sounds of nightlife momentarily muted as the sound of his gun detonating had pushed even the bravest cricket into submission.

Right there, where just seconds ago Dean had thought he'd seen Joe watching him, swayed the lazy branch of a small tree, hiding behind one of his bigger brothers, its twigs and leaves giving a almost perfect impression of a human body hiding in the shadows.

Dean groaned in disbelief and frustration, thumping his head heavily back against the damp ground.

_He'd shot a goddamn tree._

Goddamn, fucking _unbelievable_.

And then, suddenly, he was aware of his breath misting in front of his mouth, wispy tendrils of moisture escaping from his slightly parted lips to vaporize within seconds into the night.

Joe was coming back.

This time, Dean was sure of it.

There was no mistaking the signs now.

Dean worked hard on keeping his breathing even, on not letting on about the fact that he was aware enough of the presence that slowly but steadily wrapped itself around his mind, seeping into the cool night air like sunlight creeping over the tip of a mountain. It wasn't quite there yet, but Dean could already feel the outlines, see the shape forming in the starlit mist around him.

With one damn shot wasted now, Dean had just one shot left, so he had to make that one count before he could check his pockets for the extra rounds he'd stuffed into his jacket.

Dean pressed his finger against the trigger, his palm immediately fitting smoothly and reassuringly into the grooves left by his own hand over years and years of training and hunting. It was his favorite shotgun, one of his oldest, too. Dad had given it to him, ages ago, and it had been one of Dean's most prized possessions ever since – right after the amulet. He'd give the gun to Sam, once he was gone, yet Dean doubted that the kid's giant paws would ever fit around the handle quite as perfectly. But Sam would probably keep it anyways, probably look at it and touch it and bawl over it…

And why the hell was he drifting again…?

Dean sensed more than saw as Joe's figure appear a couple of feet to his left, could feel the chill creeping along the ground till it touched the tip of Dean's nose, turning it numb instantly.

And then, through barely open slits in his lids, through the thick fan of his lashes Dean finally saw the man he'd come to hate more than anybody or anything else over not only the past couple of days, but more than a decade of his life.

Joe looked even paler than during their last encounter, his body almost translucent, not even close to fully corporeal but definitely no less imposing. His head was cocked slightly to the side, eyes almost curious, seizing Dean up like a kid would a new toy, yet with a fierce, underlying glint of pure, unabashed hatred that made Dean flinch involuntarily. And for the first time Dean saw Joe's choice of an instrument of torture, the thing that he'd probably used to slice open Dean's back, almost cutting him in half.

The sight was almost comical, almost made Dean laugh, if the situation had been even remotely funny. Which, clearly, it wasn't.

Joe was holding nothing else but a meat hook in his ghostly hand. He looked almost a little like the hook-man that they'd encountered some, what, tree years ago? Only that this hook was clearly a more modern instrument, used by butchers and even hunters of the animal-hunting kind to drag around the carcasses of their animals, hooking slaps of meat up to manoeuvre them more easily.

Sam had told him about his theory of a _hunting-storage-gutting_ cabin, and Dean had to admit that it was a plausible enough explanation. And the theory fit just nicely into the picture of Joe now balancing his gruesome instrument of torture in his barely corporeal hand.

As the apparition drew closer, slowly gaining strength, even though clearly a lot weaker than he'd been before, Dean braced himself. He waited with all his senses on high alert, every muscle coiled to the utmost extend. He waited for the exact moment – the only moment that he could strike.

To make the most of it.

He waited till Joe was barely two feet away, then counted to three before bringing the shotgun up with one swift motion, spinning his aching body sideways and aiming for what he hoped would be Joe's head or at least his chest. Hell, he'd go for his groin if it had been more effective than it was on a freaking ghost…

Dean gave himself about a split second to consider his aim, adjudged it, then pulled the trigger.

The blast of the shotgun knocked Dean backwards again and he was dimly aware of a growl of pain, realizing too late that it wasn't Joe making those sounds but Dean himself instead. His back was again pressed painfully against the biggest, fattest cluster of rocks in the whole damn forest. Dean could feel fresh blood soaking through his bandages and shirt, could feel the warmth spreading out towards his sides and down towards his hips. It felt strangely comforting, the heat of his own blood soothing his cold skin somewhat, but Dean was too familiar with the feeling, unfortunately, to be mentally soothed by it as well.

Joe was gone for the moment, blasted away – but again, this was getting so freaking _old_.

Dean knew that the chances of him staying gone were slim to none.

And the thought once again managed to unsettle him just a little bit.

This was getting old real fast.

Like really, really old. Really, really fast.

He was done with being hurt and hurting, being helpless and virtually useless burden to his brother and friend and even the people he was supposed to save.

He was done being alone in this.

And he was _so _done with Joe.

Seriously now, what the hell kind of obsession did the guy have with him, anyways – continuously grabbing Dean, abducting him, tying him up and beating him, trying to dissect him like he was some piece of prime meat?

Up to a certain point Dean had been willing to forgive the guy – blame it on a shitty childhood – lack of parental love, too much money that had spoiled his character. But even Dean's sympathies only went so far, and Joe had crossed the line to full on, pure Dean Winchester hatred a long, long time ago.

This right now didn't exactly serve to up Dean's sympathies any.

At least he wasn't exactly where he'd started a couple of days ago. Not that it should serve to soothe Dean's mind any, but for some sick reason Dean drew comfort out of the fact that Joe hadn't managed to drag him back to his hiding place again.

Not that he was doing all that much better in his current position… and the woman Joe had taken earlier wouldn't be feeling all too swell either, if she was eve still alive. Dean could only hope that she hadn't been hurt too badly so far, could only hope that Joe was still weakened by the burning of his bones to get to fully unleash his wrath on the poor woman. He'd certainly saved some of his anger for Dean.

Who was now lying in the damn forest again, back and mind both screaming with the sudden onslaught of images and feeling, both old and new, practically paralyzing him and rooting him to the spot.

The terrain was rough, even though barely off the road but still wildly vegetated, a thick carpet of dry and rotten leaves covering planes of soft and slightly dewy moss, sharp little sticks and stones the only reason Dean couldn't revel in the strangely comfortable bed nature had provided him with.

He was in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Unbound and un-gagged – not blindfolded this time around. But it didn't really feel all that different.

For never-ending, needless minutes all he did was lay there, staring at the night sky shimmering down upon him through the thick canopy of the trees, an occasional star lightening up the jet-black of the thick dark blanket covering the world with darkness. He was barely aware of the pain that still travelled up and down his back, strangely muted for the moment even though he could clearly feel the throbbing shivers that spasmed through his muscles. They were clear enough witnesses to the hurt that was gathering there, waiting to be unleashed onto his body and mind as soon as he was able to rip himself out of his stupor.

It almost felt like he was merely a visitor, a guest in his own body. And for an insane moment, Dean almost wished it would stay that way. It made him wonder if Hell still wanted him – if the hellhounds would still take him, then - what part of him they would chose. Would they choose his mind or his body? Clearly, his body would have been the preferred option – only Dean doubted that hell place exceptional value on physical merits – however enticing they might be.

And then he wondered if it really mattered. One way or another, they were going to get him – Dean had no doubt about that. They would have thought of all the possible hidey-holes, of all the stints Dean or Sam would think of pulling to get him out of the deal.

_Welch and weasel_ – that certainly didn't specify – covered a lot of bases. They would have thought of everything.

And then, for the first time in months – ever since he'd made the deal, Dean panicked.

There was no stopping it, was no quenching it, like he'd so successfully done so far, in front of his brother or his best friend. For the first time since trading his soul for the only person's he'd ever really cared for, he was truly alone.

Alone with on himself – and his thoughts – and he didn't like it one bit.

And for the first time since making the deal Dean let himself be really, damn fucking scared.

OoOoOoO

"I'm going to kill him. Nice and slow. Then I'm going to resurrect his stupid ass and kill him _again_. I can't believe…how goddamn…how could he…"

Sam was close to ripping at his own hair – a nervous habit he'd cast off years ago, after Dean had actually shaved off his whole head, showing him what he'd look like if he actually succeeded in scalping himself.

Of course, Sam had been about six back then, and Dean had been grounded for nothing but school and hunts for three months after, but it had been a valuable lesson – for both of them. Sam had stopped the ripping – and Dean had cut the shaving of his little brother down to a bare minimum – and had restricted himself to only doing it when it had been certain that dad wasn't going to be around for a while.

Why Sam would think about this now was something he couldn't figure out.

But one fact remained – Dean was gone.

Sam had woken up in the middle of the night – due to what he'd first thought to be a nervous bladder, or an overambitious nightmare, and had found Dean not in bed. Had found him not in the bathroom, either, and after rousing Bobby with a frustrated and slightly panicked shout they'd finally found Bobby's car to be gone.

The stupid shmuck had gotten up in the middle of the night, gotten himself dressed and taken off in Bobby's car, leaving them behind without so much as a word. Hadn't even left a note, and the only reason Sam had even the slightest notion as to here his brother had gone to was due to the fact that Dean had, once again, failed to turn off the damn computer, hadn't even closed the lid like Sam had told him time and time again he should do to spare the battery. He'd even left the webpage he'd been scanning open for Sam to find once he'd killed the stupid screensaver of barely dressed girls dancing hula around a campfire that Dean had managed to install only two weeks ago and Sam had never gotten around to deleting again since.

Dean had gone out to hunt himself some spirit.

And not just any spirit, no, he wouldn't just pick the random spirit that he might have been able to deal with, even in his current condition. No, of course he'd go after his worst nightmare, one of his oldest enemies. And he so wasn't ready for this.

"The hunting-cabin." Sam stated, matter-of-factly. He was already on the move, grabbing his duffel as he passed by Bobby, who was still struggling to tie up the laces of his left shoe.

"It's the place Joe attacked Dean, held him in. I'm sure that's where he brought his other victims, too, to kill them. So he's most likely bound to that place. This has to be the reason he didn't vanish when I burned his bones, maybe he's still…somehow attached to the place. Like, mentally, at least, or maybe he left something else behind…a speck of blood, a hair, a fingernail - anything. And of course Dean would go there to save the damsel in distress - alone. Damn hero-complex that he has."

"That or a sick over-exaggerated self-assessment, thinking that he can handle it himself, after everything…" Bobby grumbled, rushing to follow the younger hunter, the one with legs far longer than his own, out of the room.

"I don't care what his case is, but he's definitely going to suffer for this. Once he's better, I'm going to make him suffer till he'll beg to be back in Joe's hands again…"

Sam heard his own words tumble over each other, trip and stumble in sync with his overactive imagination, his mind reeling yet coming up with only more questions, more _what ifs_.

"So, the cabin - there was an old road leading right to it. We can make it there in about an hour…I think I've got some roadmap of the area in the car…"

Sam didn't care that Bobby had to run to keep up with him. He could hear his old friend fall in step behind him easily enough when he was only halfway down the stairs of the cabin, the sleek form of the Impala already glinting in the faint moonlight from the parking space at the bottom of the steps.

Joe couldn't have Dean – he wasn't ever going to get Dean, ever again.

OoOoOoO

Dean had broken down for maybe five minutes – give or take. And while he still felt like he really didn't wanna get up and face reality again so soon, Dean knew he had no choice. Not if he wanted to get out of here. Not if he wanted to live. Not if he wanted for Joe's newest victim to live.

John Winchester had trained his sons well.

It had to be said, had to be acknowledged every once in a while. John had told him, had freaking _told_ Dean, on what turned out to be his deathbed, pretty much, that he was proud – of Dean, and Sam… He'd told him and Dean had believed him.

Only right now Dean somehow thought that mere words of pride weren't really enough to cover it.

John had taken the easy way out, in the end. Sure, he'd given his life for his son's, had set an example, good or bad, that Dean had only too willingly followed merely a year later. Problem was, Dean hadn't counted on the tiny little fact that John hadn't had much time to think it through – didn't have time to really be scared, even. He'd made the deal, made sure that Dean was indeed alive and _BAM_, that had been it. Gone down within mere hours after making up his mind.

It wasn't really fair.

Dean had thought he'd gotten the better deal, back at the crossroads, bargaining for months of his own life like visiting some Turkish bazaar, going from ten to five to freaking _one_ year like he was bidding on a box of apples.

One year.

365 days.

It had sounded like a freaking eternity back then.

In reality it was everything _but_.

But it still left him with plenty of time to be scared absolutely shitless.

Maybe the instant switch deal would have been the preferred option – yeah, definitely the preferred option. Not only would it have left him with less time to wonder, to _think_, that in itself was bad enough. But also would it have left him with less time to watch his brother worry himself into a trembling heap. It would have left him with less time to see Sam suffer from a decision that he'd not been a part of.

Yeah – about hindsight…

But he really didn't have any more time left to cling to the past, messing this up, once again because he didn't have his head in the game entirely.

Joe was gone, for now.

Dean knew that the chances of him staying gone were slim to none.

He picked himself off the ground, breathing his way through the painful task of assembling his body and pulling himself into a sitting position against the trunk of a tree, levering the gun on his lap as he reloaded it with two of the rock salt-cartridges he'd stored in the inside pocket of his jacket. His hands were just slightly unsteady, his right arm aching from the shoulder down to the tips of his fingers, tendrils of pain reaching up for his teeth even, as his body protested the rough handling and aggravation of the wound in his shoulder. Dean simply resigned himself to reload left-handedly, once again thankful that his dad had forced him to train until he'd gotten equally good with both his hands.

Once the shotgun was loaded, Dean dug around in his pocket, checking reception on his cell – just to make sure - but finding it, of course, out of service. Which was just perfect.

Fretting didn't make any sense, whatsoever. Dean knew that. Still he couldn't help but curse under his breath, damning heaven and hell and angry spirits as well as bad cell phone reception, among other things. He knew he should probably save his breath, prepare himself for what he was sure would be another long night – complete with a sure enough run in with Joe - again. Which was exactly the reason that he chose to curse and grouse, muttering his way through a string of expletives as he angled himself up from the damp floor, using the rough bark of the tree as support until he was upright again.

Dean looked around, making out the clearing between the trees that would lead him back to the street, the house mere feet away from his current location.

He took a determined step forward shaking his head as if the simple act could rid him of the memories of his former trek through the woods, blindfolded and scared out of his wits, rid him of the cotton suffocating his brain.

With each step forward Dean felt himself straighten, strengthen - if not in the physical sense then at least in mentally, his brain focusing on one task, shutting out everything else.

This Dean was good at.

He could do this.

Every step he took was one step closer to finishing this hunt that he should have never, ever taken on by himself in the first place. He'd jumped right into the trap he'd laid himself, had presented himself on the biggest, shiniest silver platter he had gotten a hold of, had lain down and waited for the shit to hit the fan.

His own goddamn fault.

And he'd left the only two people he still had, his brother and best friend, behind to take this on himself.

Dean almost faltered, again, as he realized that he was walking _away_ from his little brother and Bobby, the two people that meant more to him than anything else. He walked away in order to settle a bill laid out more than a century ago.

The past will come back to haunt you…right. And damn for whoever had realized it before Dean had.

Once again he'd fallen victim to his own pride.

He'd thought he'd be stronger, better. He'd thrown every advice, every lesson ever learned over board and had done things his way. Because that had worked so fucking well before. Only that now it wasn't only him paying the price, but possibly his brother as well. The only family he had left. The one person he had about a thousand things to say to, a million things to teach. So much more left to do than he'd ever have the time to accomplish. But Dean would try – had to try. He couldn't just walk away now.

With each and every step Dean took the pain retreated a little farther, was replaced by another piece of determination instead. He might come to regret his own stubbornness later on, but that was another thing Dean had come to accept over the years – _to_ _live with the decisions you make_. One problem at the time.

He hadn't realized how far he'd walked, how much distance he'd covered until the ground beneath his feet changed, the texture going from damp and cluttered, moss and twigs and leafs crunching underneath the soles of his boots to the rough and crunchy gravel of what he recognized as the road he'd walked before, more than once.

And he was going to walk it one last time – if that's what it took. Preferably, the second last time, before going back home, but Dean would take the cards as they were dealt to him.

He'd face his demons first, then figure out about the rest.

One step at a time.

His only chance to maybe, maybe, having a future that didn't hold the terrible promise of life in the pit, after all.

OoOoOoO

Sam drove like a madman. He knew it - and was repeatedly reminded about it by the grunts and bitches from the passenger seat, which felt oddly familiar and just a little comforting, too, if it wasn't for the fact that it wasn't Dean doing the whining and grunting and bitching.

It was Bobby.

Doing a pretty good imitation of his brother's white knuckled grip of both dashboard and side door, but failing to put just the right amount of exasperation and unfounded arguments behind his words of displeasure.

Sam grimaced as the Impala hit another pothole, the car swearing and groaning under the attack of stones and twigs to its floorboard. Dean would so have his ass if he ever found out about this. But for some reason Sam couldn't really get himself to care. He'd happily arrange for any spare parts to be hand-delivered and built in as soon as they were the hell away from this godforsaken town. Not that _he_ had anything to make up for – most certainly not. Come to think of it, Dean should be the one figuring out some pretty impressive ways to make this up to Sam – and Bobby, too.

Maybe abusing the Impala a little more than necessary was just Sam's way of punishing his stupid as hell brother.

Sam's eyes were focused intently on the road, the beams of the Impala's headlights jumping and bouncing against the dark canopy of the imposing trees to the sides of the road.

Not much farther…

Another sharp jolt wrenched a shrieking sound from the car's core and Sam felt another rush of guilt sweep him that was only intensified when Bobby's dry comment of "Now you broke something…" hit his ears.

But the car kept going, so it couldn't be all that bad…

And Dean _really_ was in no position to complain. Once they'd saved his sorry ass he wouldn't have anything left to say for quite a while to come.

Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pushed the gas paddle down a little harder.

OoOoOoO

The cabin lay in complete darkness. The past days rain had stopped, yet some scattered clouds were still hanging deep over the forest, creating an almost tangible pressure that weighed down upon the land, pushing heavily onto Dean's shoulders.

There was no light inside, hardly any light illuminating the short distance that lay between Dean and the door of the building since the moon was currently hiding behind a dark cloud. And still Dean would have probably found the way blindfolded.

He took a deep breath – just one, allowing his fingers to struggle for a tighter hold on his weapon for a second only before striding forward, his steps as strong and determined as they were going to get these days – and probably quite some more to come.

The old, rusting door opened with an ominous creak, swinging outwards slowly before hitting the wall with a dull thud. For a second, all was quiet.

Then, a low whimper caught in Dean's ears – too low to be recognized almost, but still the sound reverberated loud and clear in his head, making him rush out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding.

The woman was right there, on the opposite end of the room, sitting against the wall, her hands tied behind her back, feet bare and shuffling over the rough and dirty floor, trying to shuffle away from the noise that had frightened her. Her head whipped around wildly as Dean took the first step into the structure, only hesitating for one second, lids only fluttering shut for the briefest instant before pulling himself together. As his heart rate slowed down, the violent beating of his own heart in his head dying down to a dull throb, beating in time with the harsh stabs across his back, Dean could see the woman's eyes and mouth were covered with the pale pink fabric that once had been her own shirt, apparently.

There was a small trail of blood running down from the corner of her mouth, a bump already forming in shimmering hues of the rainbow on her left temple. But other than that she seemed to be unharmed, as alright as one could expect under the circumstances. And she definitely was still fighting, still not broken by what had happened to her.

Joe had still been too weak by the burning of his bones to truly harm her. But he sure as hell had tried already.

Dean crossed the room as fast as he dared, still alert and on the lookout, knowing that, while Joe's ghost was still not up to par, he would be back, for sure. Sooner rather than later. And Dean was not going to be caught unprepared yet again.

When he'd come next to the woman, he slowly lowered the duffel to the ground, biting back on a hiss of pain as he gingerly lowered himself to his knees, left hand braced against the wall for support.

The woman was whimpering, shuffling further away from him.

"Hey…"

Dean searched his brain for her name, knowing he'd read it somewhere in the newspaper article he'd found.

Susan…Something. Hell if he remembered.

"Hey…Susan, right? My name is Dean. I'm here to help you, I'll get you out. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm gonna take off the blindfold and the gag now, alright?"

He waited till the woman nodded, and still she was jerking back as he touched her, turned her head away from him and tried to retreat even further as soon as he'd pried the rag that had once been her shirt away from her eyes and mouth, leaving the makeshift gag hanging around her neck.

She gasped and gulped in breath after painful breath, her eyes wide and panicked, pupils taking over the complete color of her eyes. Dean winced in sympathy, remembering only too vividly the panic and utter need at finding himself blind and unable to open his mouth. He remembered his absolute terror at finding himself almost unable to breathe, the helplessness as the woman that had found him had refused to free him of his burden, had left him for fear of doing something wrong.

Dean forced himself to keep his hands away from her, to give her space and let her get her bearings. But he kept his eyes on her, chin dipped low, looking up at her in what he hoped to be his most unthreatening way, giving her the warmest smile and deepest honesty he could muster at the moment. His hand was still wrapped around the gun, ears alert for any sign that Joe was coming back, but he tried to hide the weapon from her immediate field of vision, knowing how civilians easily felt threatened by the sight of a gun, no matter if it was in the hands of a friend or enemy.

"Easy, you gotta take it easy, take a breath. I'm not going to hurt you, I'm here to take you back home." He soothed and could see her relaxing slightly, even though she did stay rigid, her eyes flickering and blinking furiously. Still panicked, and Dean could not blame her.

"How…who…?" she finally gulped out, breaking off again when her air ran out with those two simple words.

Dean again smiled, trying to come up with a plan on how much to tell her, trying to determine how much she most likely already knew. He really wanted to keep this as low profile as possible.

"I heard noises, came to find out who was in here…" he lied, sounding lame to his own ears. But she really didn't know the whole truth now, did she? Only, Dean really didn't know what would be worse, the knowledge that there were ghosts and spirits really existing, or the knowledge that humans could be the biggest, fattest scumbags out there, ready to hurt others for the sheer pleasure of it? With spirits, at least they had reasons for their actions, however thin and senseless they may seem…

"Who are you?" she whispered, a hitch of panic making her voice sound so much younger than she really looked.

"My name is Dean. I was out hunting…came by and heard you struggling…" he explained again, calm and reassuringly, seeing her eyes flicker to his gun before apparently accepting his explanation of its existence. Most civilians luckily wouldn't see the difference between a hunting-rifle and a shotgun.

"Where…there was this guy…the next second he was gone again. Then…I woke up and…" she gulped, eyes squeezing shut as panic threatened to take her over once more. Strangely enough, Dean felt his own resolve strengthen with her weakness, felt like he was getting stronger, having given back a purpose.

Dean reached out a soothing hand, biting his lip as his back pulled along with the motion, popped stitches and torn skin rubbing uncomfortably against the coarse and sticky fabric of his shirt.

"It's alright. He's gone now. But he'll be back, so we gotta get you out of here as soon as possible."

She flinched despite his soothing tone and all of a sudden Dean felt a pang of irritation, a fierce and desperate wish for Sam to be there with him right this moment. He'd always been so much better at the whole empathy-thing, got people to open up to him so much easier. Not that Dean didn't sympathize enough, he just had a much harder time reigning in his impatience.

"Don't worry, I just want to help…"

She was still tense as he finally made contact, but turned away at his gentle nudge to give him access to her arms behind her back, let him untie her. Once she was free she once again scooted away a little massaging circulation back into her wrists, eying him with a mixture of relief and distrust.

Dean held her gaze for as long as he could, ears perked to his surrounding, muscles in his arms and back trembling from exhaustion. Finally he cleared his throat, knowing that they definitely shouldn't waste any more time.

"Alright, we should get going. I've got a car a little ways down the road."

She nodded, shakily, and watched him curiously as Dean struggled to his feet with the help of the wall before attempting to rise herself. She kept her distance to him, eye flicking to him and around the room, then the surrounding forest nervously as they made their way outside and across the path towards the bend in the road where Dean had "parked" Bobby's car.

Walking became increasingly more difficult, breathing a bit harder with each and every step, walking upright almost impossible. Dean found his concentration slipping, stumbling once over a humiliatingly little twig lying in his path.

If he was forced to walk all the way to the car, then back to the hunting-cabin again…he really wasn't sure he was going to make it.

Once the tree blocking the road was within eye-shot, Dean stopped. The woman stopped right along with him, looking at him through scared eyes.

"What…what's wrong? Why are we stopping?" She whispered, automatically backing away a step. Like Dean was going to jump her any second now. Yeah – fat chance of that going to happen anytime soon…

"I'm uhm…there's still something I gotta take care of – make sure he doesn't come after us. You go, hide in the car. Lie down in the room between backseat and front seat, hide. There's a blanket there, so you stay warm. You don't need to worry about him getting to you in there. The car's…uhm…protected…"

Dean thought about the symbols drawn around the frame of the car, its doors and roof and hubcaps even, protecting it from demonic or ghostly hitchhikers.

"Close the doors and don't come out, no matter what you hear. Only…don't go jumping me or a real tall guy – kinda shaggy looking. Or an older guy with a ball-cap, should they surprise you. Those are friends – they ain't gonna harm you, I promise."

It was a wide shot, because even though Dean knew that Sam and Bobby were going to go after him the second they found out he'd bailed on them, there was no way to tell when exactly they'd figure it out, really. Could be hours still, till either of them woke up to find Dean gone, then some time still till they figured out where he'd gone...

The woman – Susan – eyed him suspiciously, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

Dean had had about enough of her not trusting him by now. Yeah – Sam most definitely would have been the more patient one.

"Listen, I know you're scared, I get that. Believe me, I know what you've gone through – and that's not just a freaking platitude, alright? I know and I know you're scared and you have a hard time trusting me, but you have to do get over it. I'm gonna make sure that nothing else is going to happen to you, I promise you'll be safe and sound with your family as soon as I can manage, but for now I need you to go and hide in the car, wait till I finish up here. If you want you can have one of my guns to point at my head the whole way into town, if it makes you feel any better. But right now all I'm asking is that you at least try and trust me on this one."

Dean knew his voice was unnecessarily hard, and he blamed it on the pain and the meds and the whole fucked situation in general. But if anything, his little rant had given her back some of her stamina, her jaw more defiant than shaky now eyes blazing in anger more than fear.

Which was good.

Dean nodded confidently to himself.

Just about time, too, because Joe really couldn't be much longer.

Finally, she relented, nodding her head and wrapping her arms even tighter around herself as she started to walk towards the car still hidden by the tree. She turned around at the last minute, a little weepy again and Dean braced himself for yet another argument.

"Just…if you…if you see a dog, about this big…" she pointed her hand to her mid-thigh "a bit shaggy looking and chocolate brown with big dark eyes… His name's Bailey. He'll come when you call him – just loves people. But he ran off when this guy…"

Dean nodded, feeling inexplicably sorry for her, for whatever reason. Just a dog, right? And still…

"Alright, sure… I'll bring him back if I find him." He said softly.

With one last, unsteady yet grateful nod, the woman finally turned around and rounded the tree for good.

Dean waited until he heard the car door creak open, then slam shut again, waited another second till he was sure she didn't just bail out on him, hotwire the car and get the hell out of Dodge. Hell, he couldn't have blamed her, it was what Dean would have done, had he been in her shoes. But her taking off would definitely leave Dean in even bigger trouble than he already was in, but there was nothing really he could do about it right now.

When he didn't hear the car's engine starting though, Dean didn't waste another minute and made his way back towards the house.

He'd almost made it when a sliver of cold suddenly crept up behind him, wrapping around his ankles and crawling up legs and back to make the fine hair on the back of his neck rise viciously.

Dean stopped in mid-movement, fingers tightening imperceptively around the hilt of his gun, breath catching in his throat.

And then the sound of a twig snapping broke the still of the night, ceasing all other sound around him, making Dean's blood run cold.

OoOoOoO

tbc

_AN:_

_I know I owe you all a big apology – so, you know…sorry. _

_I don't know what got into me the last time I posted, I had no business bothering you with my lack of self-worth. It's my problem, and my problem alone, and I'm more than a little disappointed in myself for letting it all out the way I did._

_In real life, unfortunately, we don't get told often enough if we do something right, we mostly get scolded or reprimanded only if we do something wrong. But I should be old enough (unfortunately ;-)) to be able to stand above this goddamn need to be reassured by others, to need the approval of others for what I'm doing..._

_To all those still staying and reading and dropping me a line every once in a while, I owe you deeply! I started writing again thanks to this site and the wonderful people here, and that alone is definitely worth it. I'm very honoured to be the smallest if most insignificant part of this amazing fandom!_

_To those who want to read on, I'm back now and will stick to my schedule again from now on! I hope this chapter at least makes up for the delay a little._

_And, I didn't have the time to answer to last chapter's reviews yet (I'm just back for a couple of days), but I'll try to not forget about a single one of them, cause they really mean a lot!_

_Thanks._


	13. Chapter 13

_Is it overly sappy to dedicate a chapter to someone, I wonder?_

_Well, I don't really care. _

_wild-karde…you know what for – you're awesome, seriously. You don't even know me and still you manage to do and say the nicest things._

_So, thanks for everything!_

**Whiplash**

**Chapter 13**

Sam finally was ready to admit that he might have been driving just a tad too fast.

Not that he was going to admit to it out loud…but Dean would definitely have a thing or two to say about this, would give Sam a piece of his mind and most likely his fist as well, if he ever found out.

It was bound to get interesting – the show-off between them, after everything that had happened in the last couple of days, all that pent up anger and resentment…

But to have a showdown, they had to find Dean first, make sure he was alright. Everything else they could worry about later.

Time was crawling at an impossibly slow pace, each second ticking by feeling like minutes, each minute passing like hours at the least.

So little time left…

But they'd made fairly good progress so far, eating up miles with fierce determination. It couldn't be much farther.

And then, just as Sam thought that it all went too well, really, their progress was suddenly halted by the trunk of a huge, old tree lying across the street, blocking their path effectively. Sam hardly managed to stop the car in time, kept it from not only slamming into the tree, but also the form of Bobby's car by mere inches.

Damn.

"Damn."

Bobby was still trying to collect his limbs and take stock of his well-being when Sam was already out of the car, wrenching open the back door to grab his duffel, slamming the door shut with a violence that was maybe a little bit uncalled for.

When he passed Bobby's car he quickly checked the interior of it briefly, making sure that Dean didn't lie slumped behind the wheel, bleeding to death, barely slowing as he found the car's front seat to be empty.

At least he hadn't been hurt in the accident, then – or at least not hurt bad enough to keep him from carrying on with that dumb-headed plan of his. Which was good…he thought.

"Sam, what the hell…?" Bobby was out of the car and after him within a couple of seconds he was moving and still he had trouble keeping up with Sam's long strides as he climbed the trunk of the tree, skidding down the other side and taking off in a run. Sam could hear the older hunter pounding the ground behind him.

"It's only a little farther. I came up here the other day when…when I found Dean. Only a couple of minutes and we're there…"

Bobby pushed himself to run next to Sam, and he instinctively shortened his steps a little, matched them to Bobby's pace. It occurred to him how easily he did that, matching his step to someone else's, his breathing, his heartbeat even. Years of training, of living in sync with his brother had made him do that unquestioningly. It came as naturally as breathing.

"We can't barge in there half-assed. If Joe's got Dean again…"

"I know…I know. I'm prepared, Bobby."

But he probably didn't look it, and Sam knew that.

"Right…just checking…"

Great, now Bobby was unloading his sarcasm on him, too. It wasn't enough that Dean was doing it all the fucking time…

They neared the last bend in the road and Sam had to work hard on slowing down a little, levering the shotgun upwards, flexing and un-flexing his fingers to work out the kinks in his joints from gripping the weapon too tightly.

So close.

Sam could feel Bobby next to him gear up as well and it struck him how, even though Bobby was probably the best damn hunter he knew, next to his brother, it was still so strange, made him feel so strangely vulnerable and naked when it wasn't Dean standing or running or fighting next to him, watching his back.

He didn't even _remember_ a hunt he'd been on without his brother.

Not even when dad had still been around - even then Dean had always been by his side, moving in sync, breathing in rhythm with him. His brother had been a steady, reassuring presence Sam had come to unconsciously count on more than anything. And now that he was so damn close to loosing that support forever, Sam suddenly came to realize the full importance it held to him.

Always.

Sam forced himself to push back the sudden feeling of panic that swept over him as he thought that he'd need to get used to the feeling of having no one left, of no backup, only too soon. He almost dripped over his own feet as a pang of pain so sharp and unbearable raced through him, he barely managed to wrestle it down before it gained the upper hand.

But he wasn't going to go there now. Not today.

One deep, steadying breath, one look laden with unspoken words and Bobby slowly moved over to the side of the road, disappearing into the dense set of bushes lining the rough path, threatening to take over the whole formerly gravelled area the second Sam merely blinked. Bobby was gone from sight but Sam could feel him moving next to him still, felt him shadowing his movements hidden in the shadows, his unseen backup, his life insurance. Taking Dean's place.

For now.

Not forever.

_Not forever._

They moved forward almost soundlessly.

The lighting was poor tonight, the cabin lying in deep shadows, its looming shape melting into the dark blanket of trees surrounding it, grabbing it with invisible arms, holding it close.

Still there was no mistaking the figure standing eerily immobile in front of the building's entrance, as if awaiting their arrival.

OoOoOoO

Dean's back was turned towards them, his shoulders slightly bowed forward yet strong, determined – a hunter's stance.

His head was down, turned slightly to the side yet still away from them, casting his face in shadows, making Sam guess as to the expression that was etched into his features.

He was listening, assessing, waiting.

For what, Sam couldn't tell, but something made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, made his fingers itch and his breath catch in his throat momentarily.

Dean was ready to strike any second, the seemingly relaxed posture a coy that he had down to an art.

Sam knew.

He knew because he had his brother's body language memorized since he was little, had idolized Dean's every move, his every word even. Back then he's still thought his brother to be invincible, infallible. A lot of things had changed since then - and some still remained the same forever –however long that would actually turn out to be…

Sam knew that Dean was waiting - hearing, sensing something. And he knew better than to charge forward and rush in on his brother when he was like this. He cherished his life too much.

He raised a hand towards the forest, motioning for Bobby to stop, yet stay hidden still as he carefully moved over to the other side of the path, moving towards the side Dean's face was turned to, his brother too still, too immobile.

Sam did notice something dark and dank staining the back of Dean's jacket, felt his heart seizing in his chest as he realized what it would mean, but forced himself to stay focused on his brother's face instead. All the weakness, all the injury form the days past, the ordeals suffered were put on hold for the moment, pushed away and stored someplace hidden for the time being. Sam knew that all Dean's energy was focused entirely on one purpose now. Even if he would live to regret it later.

His eyes were not only lowered but actually closed, long, damp lashes laying heavily against his cheeks, a thin sheen of sweat making his face glisten unnaturally, giving him an unreal appearance almost. His lips were slightly parted, outwardly relaxed, the set of his jaw only visible through the string of muscle running along the line of his cheek, bulging out a cord of stubbled skin.

Sam took another step closer, lowering the shotgun ever so slightly as he stepped into his brother's immediate field of action, afraid he would hurt Dean by accident if they would get into some sort of scuffle. Sam kept his eyes intently trained on his brother's face, watching carefully for every reaction, every tic of his skin, lashes, lids. Anything. Because he knew every single reaction of his big brother's body like a poem he'd had to learn for school, able to be recounted for years and years after still, each and every syllable forever ingrained into his brain.

Dean didn't acknowledge Sam's presence in the slightest.

"Dean…"

It was merely a whisper, a word all too easily carried easily away by the slightest breeze brushing through the night, but Dean's reaction was immediate.

So was Sam's.

The moment his brother turned, eyes suddenly open, bright green eerily intensified by a stray ray of moonlight filtering through the heavy canopy of the trees, hitting his retinas and casting off them like beams of laser, Sam saw Dean's right arm swing upwards and he immediately dropped to the ground. He hit the gravel hard but was rolling away immediately and into the thicket bordering the pathway, clearing the range of Dean's shotgun as it blasted a load of rock-salt in a deafening boom merely the beat of a second after Sam was out of the line of fire.

Sam quickly rolled onto his back, bringing his legs up and digging his feet into the ground, levering his upper body upwards, his arms bringing his own gun up to aim at the point his brother had been shooting at, ready to back up Dean's shot. It all went too fast for him to really make the connection, to really know what he was feeling and he had about the fraction of a second to see the barely visible figure that had been standing there just a moment ago before it dissipated with an angry whoosh and screech of terror.

Dean's gaze was still glued to the spot, not even blinking.

Right behind the spot Sam had been standing just seconds ago had been the apparition of Joe Stinetti, his arm raised high, a long, deadly sharp meat-hook extending his appendage, ready to slice into Sam within seconds. The air was shimmering, rippling as the last traces of the spirit finally dissipated completely under the blast of rock-salt blowing through it. Sam had been so funnelled on Dean, he had failed to notice the telltale chill, the electric static in the air that had announced Joe's presence.

But Dean had felt it.

He had felt it and had shot the spirit, had saved Sam's life. Joe had been standing merely a foot behind Sam - he'd have been upon him within the blink of an eye.

Dean had blasted him away.

"Jesus…" Sam breathed.

Dean blinked once at the sound of Sam's voice, torn out of his tensed reverie, then the arm still holding onto the shotgun suddenly started to tremble, shaking so hard his fingers almost slipped from the grip on the handle. Sam tried to get to his feet and get over to his brother's side, but he wasn't fast enough, still shaken by the whole situation and was left to helplessly watch Dean's body suddenly crumble to the floor, his legs folding as his eyes rolled to the back of his head with a shuddering groan.

His knees hit the ground hard, then the rest of his body followed with a thump that felt to Sam like a punch to the stomach.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Bobby break the thick foliage across the path, rushing to his side as Sam dropped to his knees next to his fallen brother, immediately picking up Dean's head and pillowing it gently on his thigh.

Dean's skin felt clammy and damp underneath his fingers.

The second Sam made contact, long fingers laying softly against Dean's temple, Dean once again groaned, his eyelids fluttering, lips parting to gulp in a breath of air. His fingers flexed convulsively as he groped upwards, finding Sam's shirt and twisting it in a tight ball, holding on like a lifeline as he slowly opened his eyes.

All the brightness from before was gone, the fierce determination of just seconds ago replaced by a much weakened version of it, dulled around the edges by pain creeping back into the corner of his eyes, the set of his jaw.

"Sam…you found…Joe, he was…I did…behind you…get him?" His eyes never left Sam's face, not even when Bobby stopped huffing next to them.

"Damn it, boy…a little warning next time?" he gruffed gently.

"I felt him…he was right behind you… Sam, I got him, right?" Dean's voice steadied a little, the words formerly haphazardly strung together making more sense, even though the rasping sound still made Sam wince.

"Uhm…yeah, you did. You got him. I didn't even realize…"

Bobby cut off Sam's rant of self-blame before he could even get it started.

"Yeah, neither of us did, Sam. Dean shot him. But he'll be back. Looks like we didn't manage to burn him after all. Looks like he managed to hold on. So he'll definitely be back pretty soon."

But Sam was anything but done with his brother yet, and try as he might, he couldn't get himself to let off now without at least having a little outlet.

"What the hell were you thinking, Dean? What the hell were you thinking running off like that, sneaking out without telling us what you were up to, huh? After everything that happened…after everything…"

Sam's voice trailed off in a helpless attempt to not turn this into the full fledged accusation that it was actually meant to be – that he deserved to unleash, really. Because Dean was just a freaking, stubborn, self-possessed…

"He…he took a woman… I read it… She…she's OK, I think. Got her out of there and back to the car…" Dean grunted as Sam carefully helped him to sit up to take some of the pressure off his screaming back where he'd lain smashed against the ground.

"He must have…I guess when you burned the bones he, uhm, lost it for a while, was weakened. But he was still strong enough to get her…only couldn't start torturing her right away. She's just a bit shaken, but she'll be alright."

Dean broke of with a rumbling cough and let Sam lever him up straighter, which made breathing easier but apparently turned up the pain in his back a couple of notches still.

Despite the pain lacing his words, Dean went on:

"He appeared again, Joe did – when I was out walking to the house– came for me. But he was weak – weaker than before. I blasted him and he stayed gone till just now. I didn't think I would be able to make it. I only felt him again when you…"

His voice drifted off as he scanned the surrounding area, hand automatically running over the ground to look for his shotgun again. He wasn't completely coherent, or maybe Sam just didn't get it all, but he caught his brother's meaning nonetheless.

"The woman – you found her?" Sam asked cautiously, wanting to make sure, drawing Dean's focus back to him.

And again it struck him how Dean's eyes would focus impossibly as soon as they settled on Sam, how they would strengthen with just one goddamn look…

"Yeah, told you. Found her and told her to hide in Bobby's car. Figured Bobby'd appreciate to find a woman waiting for him…finally..."

Bobby was about to shoot some remark back at him, but Dean went on undeterred.

"Still didn't find her dog, though…"

At that Sam was lost in total confusion.

"What…?"

"So, if Joe's still around after our little barbeque, he's _definitely_ bound to something else, then." Bobby stated quickly, breaking off whatever argument had been about to evolve.

"The storage cabin." both brothers voiced in unison.

Sam searched for Dean's eyes again, holding on to them.

"He was bound here by his actions, I guess, his memories, his cravings, maybe…" Sam offered.

"…by my own memories. _My_ dreams." Dean stated quietly, lashes dipping towards his cheeks almost instantly as a terrible realization crossed his mind.

Sam latched onto his brother's thoughts almost as fast.

"No, Dean, no. This is not…it's not your fault. You didn't hold him here. Joe was one twisted fuck - his spirit held on to the one place he ever felt…good at, enjoying torturing you, the feeling of control, of sadism. _He_ held onto this, not you. You didn't tie him here, he did it himself. He killed those people because he's a sick, twisted bastard, in life as in death. This had nothing to do with you."

Dean's face was unreadable, poor lighting and cast down lashes shielding his emotions off effectively. It drove Sam mad. And it made him ache for his brother. This willingness to heap whatever blame he was able to find on himself…

"If I had ended it back then…if I'd let dad end it…"

"You couldn't have. Damn it, Dean, you…I mean, god, I wish I had known, because I would have… Alright, I mean, I would have wanted to have a go at him, believe me, I would have. Still do. But, you were right, I guess, however much I hate to admit it – you were. They were humans, there was nothing you could have done. Nothing to make him hate any less, nothing to make him…walk into the light more easily, or whatever you wanna call it. Even if he'd been locked away- it would have only served to make him even angrier, don't you think? And there's no way you'd ever been happy ever again if you'd have taken the law into your own hands – or let dad do it for you."

Dean attempted to turn away from Sam, tried to struggle back to his feet. Sam wouldn't let him.

"Dean…don't you to this…listen to me…"

"Boys…" Bobby's voice cut to the argument like a knife, making both of them start as they'd both forgotten of their old friend's presence.

"I hate to break this Dr. Phil moment of revelation, but I think we should take care of business – NOW, before Joe comes back, yet again, to finish this once and for all…"

The brothers blinked at each other, their eyes meeting again, not shying away this time.

The hurt and hope flashing through Dean's gaze was almost shattering. Sam wished for nothing else but to be able to make it all better…

Sam held Dean's gaze, despite the clear urgency in Bobby's statement, the knowledge that their friend was right. He needed Dean to believe him, needed him to _believe…_

After what felt like an eternity, Dean's gaze finally softened, and he dropped it again, leaning a little more into Sam's grip, let his brother help him stay balanced.

"Alright…yeah. You're right…I guess."

Sam nodded, relief flooding him, despite the nagging feeling that, maybe, Dean was not quite as accepting as he appeared to be at the moment.

_Damn straight he was right…_if Dean would only, for once in his life really accept that…

"You sure?" Sam asked, seeing the faint smile curl at the corners of Dean's mouth at the question.

"Yeah, I guess I'm sure. You're right. But don't get used to me saying it, it's a one time thing only. Won't happen again any time soon."

Sam smiled.

Bobby grumbled next to them, and Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, using the moment to re-establish some kind of rapport with his brother, like Bobby gave him the opportunity to.

"I really hate to break up the tender moment, but I'd really rather get started torching the place now, before we have to worry about Dean once again getting high-jacked by some sadistic ghost, boys."

This time, Dean was the one rolling his eyes.

"The one opportunity of a chick-flick moment for Sam and you break it up…" he chuckled, and Sam let loose an involuntary laugh, too.

"I say, we torch the place to the ground, then get you back home, patch you up, yet again. And I swear, if you spoil all that handiwork again… Then we can have all the chick flick moments you wanna have, alright?" Sam smiled, levering Dean away from him and helped him get to his feet.

He pointedly ignored all muttered remarks that met his ears, slinging one long arm around Dean's back to hook his thumb through the belt-loops of his jeans.

But instead of leading his brother towards the building, he steered him to the side of the road, towards a large tree-stump, pushing him back down to the ground, his shoulder against the trunk, despite Dean's weak protests.

"Sam, what the hell…you said…we wanted to…"

Dean's face was a mask of confusion – and hurt, but Sam's empathy only went so far.

"Yeah, _we_, as in Bobby and me. You're hurt, man, you stay here and let us take care of it."

"No, this is my fight…this is my… It's _my_ fight, Sam. You don't…you _can't_ take this away from me." Dean hissed, fighting against his brother's grip.

Sam had frighteningly little trouble keeping him down.

"Stop this, Dean – stop it and _listen._" Sam almost shook Dean – barely restraining himself from literally shaking same sense into his brother. The expression of shocked silence on Dean's face had him toning down his voice quickly though.

"Your fight is mine, too, Dean." He whispered intently. "Let me do this…for you – let me have revenge. For you. Please. I need that, too…now…"

Sam felt Bobby step away from them, giving them space and time where clearly both was more than rare. Sam could have kissed him for it. Tears were prickling in the corner of his eyes and he didn't know if they were sired by anger or desperation. Or maybe a bit of both.

After an eternity, Dean sagged against him, his body letting Sam know that he'd won this round.

"Alright. You do it then. I'm tired anyways. And you definitely need the workout – going a little soft around the edges there…" Dean said, voice low and rough, as he padded Sam's chest absently with the back of his hand before slumping back again. Sam felt himself sag, too, for only a moment.

Dean trusted him with this – finally he trusted him.

He nodded emphatically.

"Alright…good. Good."

He squeezed his brother's shoulder, felt Dean squeeze back his arm and only now came to realize that Dean had held on to his biceps all this time, holding him tight. He let go now, giving Sam leave to go. Giving him permission.

Finally.

OoOoOoO

They doused the place with all the gasoline they had on them, including the tiny flask that Dean had carried in the pocket of his jeans. It did occur to them that they most likely were about to set the whole forest on fire, torching off hundreds of trees in order to free Dean off one of the ghosts of his past. But it had to be done. So they'd do it.

Dean stayed propped against the tree-stump, shotgun at the ready, watching them, watching their backs.

They went about their work as quickly as possible, fearing Joe's return, and after a short while Sam could feel the cold creeping back up on them, a thin mist settling in eerie foreboding over the ground.

No one said a word, Dean sat up a little straighter while both Sam and Bobby silently picked up their pace, determined to get this done without further interference.

When they were finally done dousing the place, Bobby took out his lighter, flicking it on.

Sam's hand on his arm stopped him short.

"Wait."

Without another word, the young man turned around and went back to his brother's side, helping him to his feet and practically dragging him over to where Bobby was standing.

Wordlessly, with a tiny nod of understanding Bobby handed the lighter to the older Winchester, watching him as he eyed first the lighter, then the house in front of them, flicking on the flame but holding on to it until his finger had to be scorched by the hot brimstone.

"Whenever you're ready." Sam said, voice low and level.

Dean just nodded.

"Let's do it, then." He whispered, then cleared his throat, rolled his bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it again.

"Here's to us…" and with one last look at his brother, he flicked the lighter towards the line of gasoline that sneaked it's way away from their feet and towards the building's entrance.

They waited till the flames roared up inside the structure, eating their way along the wall and through the already broken windows, licking angry tongues of heat towards the roof, before quickly engulfing the whole building.

As soon as they were sure that nothing would be left behind, they turned around and made their way back towards the car, walking as quickly as possible as both of them took a great deal of Dean's weight, practically dragging him onwards. He was at the end of his strength. His back was suspiciously sticky and warm, and Bobby could feel the tremors shaking his already weakened frame getting stronger by the minute.

They had to get out of here, quickly. The minute one of them had reception on the cell phone again, they'd call the fire department, direct them here to keep the damage to the forest as small as possible. Because even though the trees were still damp from the past days rains, they were still burning a lot faster than they would have liked.

They'd made it almost back to the roadblock when suddenly a rustling in the bushes flanking the road made all three of them stop short. For a second, Bobby was dumbfounded, body tensed, and he could feel Sam mirroring his posture. Only Dean, who seemed close to passing out between them took a second longer to catch on, head sluggishly pulling up as he followed their gazes towards the underbrush.

Definitely sounds from there, and already the branches and leaves of the bush were moving.

The fire at their backs was still blazing, but it didn't even take one look between Sam and Bobby and both of tem brought up their shotguns, training the weapons towards the forest, trying to lever Dean's weight between them to not let him fall.

The tension was palpable in the air, prickling with nervous energy as they simultaneously released the safety, adjusting their aim.

There was a sound, rough and barking-like, and Dean suddenly launched himself forward and out of their grasp, and it was solely due to that moment of surprise that Bobby's shot went far higher than he'd aimed it, Sam apparently able to abandon the shot altogether at the last possible second.

"No…wait!"

"Dean…what the…"

"Don't shoot…damn…that's Bailey…" Dean panted, dropped down to one knee, fighting to not drop fully to the ground.

Bobby was still lost, and judging from the expression on Sam's face the kid wasn't faring much better.

It took only a second though, before the large and shaggy form of a chocolate brown dog burst through the last cover of thicket, leafs and twigs tangled in the animal's fur, giving it a slightly wild look as it bounded towards the group of hunters with a sound between a gasp and a growl rolling off his flailing tongue.

Bobby automatically brought his gun up again, blinking in irritated surprise as Dean's hand shot out and pushed it away.

"No…that's just Bailey…Susan's dog… The woman in your car. It's hers. She told me…I promised to…"

Everything else was cut short as the dog had finally reached them and threatened to tackle Dean, its huge body rocketing towards him as if he was its long lost friend he'd been searching for for hours. Bobby saw it coming, but was still a little too flabbergasted to react. Fortunately, Sam had himself under control a lot faster.

With one swift motion the young man pushed his own body between Dean and the "attacker", taking the brunt force of the animals respectable weight as it crashed into him, both grunting at the impact, but neither going down. Sam's hands immediately went for the dog's neck, groping and grasping for its collar, finally succeeding in wrestling it down.

They both stood panting for a while, the dog's tail wagging furiously as it eyed them all in turn, insanely happy eyes sparkling with joy and maybe a little bit of relief that it had found them.

"Dog's a freaking _giant_." Sam gulped, hands still buried in the long, tangled fur as the dog leaned against him, trying to catch his attention through burying its head between Sam's thighs.

"And, apparently, a freaking _pervert_ to top it off!" Dean snickered, then coughed, swaying a little and Bobby quickly reached out to take hold of his friends elbow again, letting Dean lean against him.

"You sure that's Susan's dog? 'Cause I'm not getting that furry giant in my car if you're not absolutely sure…" Bobby grumbled, even as he had to bite back on a smile as the dog went onto its hind legs, placing huge paws onto Sam's chest in an attempt to reach his face to give him a big, sloppy kiss.

"Well, it sure as hell ain't gonna ride in the Impala…" Dean offered dryly.

"Sam, you wanna cut the cuddling and get moving? My back's getting kinda hot here…"

Bobby checked behind them, taking in the flames slowly but steadily reaching out towards the surrounding forest, ready to spread out to still their hunger.

Sam grumbled, pushing the dog off him, keeping one hand on its collar while moving over next to his brother again, offering his shoulder for him to lean on. Dean huffed indignantly, trying to wave him off, but after only a couple of steps, he finally accepted the support, let both hunters take the biggest part of his weight again.

They definitely had to hurry, had to get Dean off his feet and out of this goddamn forest.

They had to reach the fire department soon, prevent as much damage to the forest as possible.

And then, if they managed it somehow, Bobby would get Dean to a hospital this time. The woman Dean had stashed away in Bobby's car would need to be dropped of at the hospital anyways, and Dean sure looked like he was more than ready, too. The way the back of his jacket was saturated with blood again, the way he was sweating and trembling all at the same time didn't leave much to the imagination of how his injuries had fared during last night's ordeal.

Only, Bobby somehow doubted that the kid would let them get him checked out, to be honest.

No matter how weak he was, he'd fight them nails and teeth.

Bobby knew.

And, maybe Bobby wasn't quite as ready to hand him over into the hands of some strangers any more than Sam was.

Maybe holding Dean close now really _was _the only right thing to do.

OoOoOoO

The following days, minutes and hour blended into each other seamlessly, drowning out all feeling of time.

Dean knew he should feel worried, knew that he couldn't really afford to lose much more time, not even a single day, but somehow it didn't work that way. Somehow, he felt quite content in his state of semi-awareness, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, wading through the moments and minutes and hours where the pain took over his body again, unable to be held at bay anymore, cherishing the hours when the meds once again managed to carry him away at least for the time being.

He was aware enough to recognize his surroundings whenever he woke up, pain- or brotherly-induced. At some point, while on their way out of the forest, they were passed in the opposite direction by a screaming fire-truck, then he'd apparently drifted off again, because when he became aware again, this time due to a pretty rough manhandling of his tortured body, they were at the cabin once more, Sam and Bobby dragging his sorry ass inside.

He'd inquired about the woman – and had been informed that she'd been dropped off at the hospital with firm instructions that she hadn't gotten a good enough look at her rescuers. And, even though Dean had no recollection of it whatsoever, both his brother and Bobby informed him that Dean had flat out refused to be admitted as well. He'd been awake and aware, apparently, long enough to make sure they weren't going to drop him off without his consent before succumbing to unconsciousness again.

After that it became pretty blurry for a while, only bits and pieces of painful cramps across his back and side, of needles digging into his already raw skin, his body once again burning beyond its capabilities.

Whenever the drugs wore off, he was tortured once again by dreams, weird and distorted, slamming into and around inside of him, leaving him breathless and confused. But whenever he opened his eyes, truly opened them to the here and now, he would be met with the same sight, the same sounds and smells and feelings. Sam was always there, right next to him, as if he never moved even once during all this time, his face a constant mixture between worry and reassurance, eyes dark and soft and always on him.

And somewhere along the line it became all Dean cared for anymore.

The duration of the nightmares became shorter and shorter, the dreams more easily interrupted by the simple weight of a hand on his shoulder, his neck, soothing words that never really penetrated the fog clouding his brain but making it through nonetheless, somehow.

His body was healing.

Slowly, but healing nonetheless.

And so, maybe, was his mind. Maybe.

It was sometime later – much, much later – when Dean woke again and felt different.

It took awhile for his heavy lids to open, for his burning eyes to focus, but when he finally could the difference was apparent almost instantly.

Sam was gone.

He simply wasn't there anymore.

Not in the chair by his bed, nor the space between the beds, nor – and Dean remembered one or two occasions very vividly – even _in_ Dean's bed, propped into the farthest corner yet always close enough to touch.

And then Dean remembered, with a pang of fear, that he hadn't been there the last couple of times Dean had surfaced, had woken up to find Bobby instead of his little brother standing or sitting or lying watch on the bed or the chair next to him.

It took him a while to clear his throat, work some moisture back into his mouth.

"Sam…?"

When no answer came, Dean tried again, finding his voice working surprisingly well, too.

"Sam…you here?"

There was a thump behind him, then a cough, and before Dean managed to turn his head around on the pillow a slightly dishevelled and definitely still sleepy looking Bobby rounded the bed to settle heavily down on the chair still positioned next to the mattress.

"Hey…" cough "Hey kiddo. It's just me."

"Really? Could have fooled me…" Dean quipped, curling his lip in a crooked smile that quickly vanished as he realized what Bobby being there next to him instead of his little brother could mean.

"Where's Sam?" He really, really sounded like a little kid, whining for his mommy, didn't he? But he was beyond caring already. After everything that had happened, every humiliation he'd subjected himself to over the past couple of days…

Dean struggled to sit up, felt the by now all too familiar pull of swollen flesh across his back and side, the hot twist of muscle between his shoulder blades. But it was…muted, somewhat, at least compared to what he'd felt like a couple of days ago. Still didn't mean he felt all that great…

Bobby quickly helped him, stuffing a huge, fluffy pillow behind his back, levering him slightly to the side until he could sit more or less upright without jarring the wound too much. After another minute of simply breathing, Dean felt like he might be able to talk again, raising imploring eyes at his friend.

"So…where's Sam? Don't tell me you've got enough of him already…chased him off…"

Dean flashed another smirk that was only meant to cover up his apparent unease.

Bobby ran a hand over his face, scrubbing his chin, blunt nails making soft, scratching sounds on the six day stubble that had grown there. But he didn't look uneasy, Dean thought, only tired, beat. Like he really needed a break.

Dean knew the feeling.

"Sam went out – had to throw him out alright, had to make sure he got to breathe a little, without stealing the air from your lungs there, he was hovering over you so much."

Dean cocked his head, accepted the glass of water Bobby handed over, accepted the fact that Bobby held on to the bottom of it until he was sure Dean had it securely in his grip. His hands _were_ shaking. Just a little bit. But he felt a lot better – a lot better.

"Where'd he go?" Dean asked once he'd finished the glass in one big gulp, handing it back to his friend. He tried not to sound too needy, he really did. But he really wanted Sam there with him now, just to see him, to make sure…

Relinquishing control had never come easy to Dean – certainly not when it came to his baby brother.

"Uhm, just out, you know, get some supplies, find a library, stretch his legs. He's been sitting in this chair for so long, I betcha he shrunk at least a couple of inches."

"Suits him well." Dean shot back and Bobby grunted his assent.

For a couple of minutes they just sat, Dean more content than he'd have thought with the quiet, settling himself back a little, cherishing the feeling of cool air brushing the skin of his bare chest and arms. He'd been lying on his front for so long, he was sure he'd developed some very impressive pressure sores.

He really didn't want to seem impatient, but…

"So, when did he say he'd be back?" Dean finally conceded, rolling his eyes at himself, internally, at being so damn needy and predictable.

Bobby seemed to have to anticipated the question.

"Only another hour or two. He'll bring back some dinner, too. You should rest some more till then, you still look a little pale around the nose…"

Dean was about to grumble his protest, feeling like he'd slept for longer than he should have as it was, wasting days of the rest of his life that he couldn't afford, but to his own surprise found that he indeed was tired. Or rather, exhausted. Not the bone deep, aching need for immobility, injury induced weariness, but pure need to rest. Healing rest. At least for his body. His mind probably wouldn't fare well with sleep, ever again. But for the moment the dreams were kept at bay, be it drug induced or not, and Dean chose to cherish that fact for as long as it worked. He'd be back to worrying soon enough.

Too soon.

Then, suddenly, another thought occurred to Dean, and he dragged leaden lids open once more, fasting slightly unfocused eyes on Bobby.

"You know…what happened to the dog?" he asked.

The confusion on Bobby's face was full on.

"Uhm…we found him, remember? Or rather – he found us. Don't you remember the teary and heartbreaking reunion with his owner?" the older hunter asked, sitting a little straighter in his chair, as if to get ready to tie Dean down and have him admitted any second.

Now that he mentioned it…

"Oh…yeah…sure. Sure. Must have been pretty out of it…" Dean conceded

Bobby raised both his eyebrows so high, they smack disappeared under the brim of his ball cap. He looked at Dean so hard, Dean was inclined to look away.

"What…you got something to say?" Dean rasped, licking his lips nervously.

Bobby had to have something to say, Dean was sure of that, he only wasn't sure he really wanted stay for the show...

"Yeah, I _bet_ you've been pretty out of it. Hell, after the shit you pulled, I seriously think we should get you checked out, see if everything's still working properly in that head of yours…"

Dean blinked irritably, swallowing back the indignant reply that had already formed on his lips.

Hell, Bobby _could _be right. There'd been times when Dean himself had had serious doubts about his own sanity, lately.

Finally, Dean shrugged.

"Well…you think maybe I could file an insanity plea, keep my ass outta the pit?" he said, his voice intended to be light and teasing, but he found it to sound rather lame and maybe a tad inappropriate even to his own ears. He cringed before the words had even left his mouth.

But there was no taking them back now.

Maybe he was lucky and Bobby would just let it pass…

…maybe not, though.

"Don't you be smart with me, boy. You wanna try and pull that with your brother – fine – but you don't get to play the _laughing in the face of death_ attitude with me."

Bobby's voice was hard and Dean had to flinch, quickly averting his gaze.

"Sorry…" he mumbled, suddenly feeling all of seven years old, waiting for his punishment for breaking one of Bobby's favourite ritual bowls.

"Just…if you don't have anything smart to say, don't bother saying anything at all." Bobby snapped, and Dean once again flinched, even though he had no problem interpreting the unusual sharp scolding for what it really was.

It was love that spoke out through the rough words, and Dean swallowed down the suspicious lump that had formed in his throat.

Great, so now Dean didn't only have to mind about Sam's feelings, he had to traipse around Bobby as well. Wonderful. Like this wasn't hard enough without being able to at least trying to divert himself from it all by using his oldest, most precious weapon against pain – by making fun of it.

Awesome.

Dean bit his lip, trying to come up with something to say that didn't sound absolutely and completely girly, something that didn't open the gates to one tremendous chick flick moment, one that didn't leave him open and torn to pieces only on the inside but for the whole world to see…

Bobby sighed, his face finally softening again as he leaned back, retreating from Dean's personal space.

Suddenly, it became so much easier to breathe again…

"You get some rest now, Dean. Sam'll be back in no time and he no doubt'll wanna wake you up the minute he gets here, check you out, make you eat and drink and give you hell for that stupid stunt you pulled. You'll thank me for every minute of sleep you'll be able to sneak in till then."

Dean smiled lazily, masking the worry still tugging at his mind.

But he was just so damn tired still…

"Yeah…OK. Just, wake me up when Sam gets back." He mumbled, words already dragging, eyes heavy with sleep as he gingerly slid back down onto the mattress, arranging his body into the least painful position.

Something wasn't quite right with Sam's absence, Dean could feel it. He'd always known when his little brother was up to something – or keeping something from him, even when he wasn't even there for Dean to see the telltale signs of his guilty face, the eyes that couldn't keep anything from his big brother. But for now Dean chose to trust Bobby enough to wait until he could face Sam again, see for himself.

Bobby wouldn't dare lie to him about Sam being at least reasonably safe – he wouldn't, _couldn't_ pull that off.

And if those two of them conspiring against him, Dean was bound to find out sooner or later.

He'd decide on a plan of action when the time came.

No more deals – not for Sam, at least. Dean would make sure of that.

Deals had never done them any good in the long run, so far.

OoOoOoO

_AN:_

_Alright…so, there's a whole truckload of people who i seriously need to thank for their support and kind words and reviews and PMs over the last weeks._

_If I haven't answered some of those reviews – let me tell you something: it's not because I don't care, or because they don't mean anything to me. On the contrary. I have trouble finding the right words, sometimes, when people are too nice to me, or when I feel that I don't deserve the praise or the kind support. When I'm overwhelmed, I sometimes tend to not say anything at all, because I don't feel I'll ever be able to express how much it all really means to me._

_So, thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you liked this chapter…the next one will, most likely, be the last one. It's pretty much done already, but I'll likely change it about a hundred times still…hope I don't mess it up any more._

_Thanks to you all!_

_Take care! _


	14. Chapter 14

_Alright, here it goes. The last chapter. Hope you like._

**Whiplash **

**Chapter 14**

Bobby had left.

Left to get back home, mumbling something along the line of _having a car to fix, a business to tend to_,_ a living to make, _but he'd_ get the room ready for the boys to take over._

Goodbyes had been brief, neither of them lingering long on something that wouldn't last for very long - on something that sounded more permanent than it would be. Bobby had briefly man-hugged Sam, clapped his shoulder, then cuffed Dean on the back of the head softly, had given him a glare that was easily covered up by the smile tugging the corners of his mouth upwards.

Maybe, Dean mused, there'd been the hint of a malicious glee in that smile, making him fear for the worse.

He knew he wasn't off the hook – so to speak – not off _this_ hook, at least.

He was sure Sam still had something in store for him.

Dean waited for hours after Bobby had left, waited and waited, starting every time Sam spoke, or simply cleared his throat, preparing himself for the inevitable showdown, the moment of truth – whatever he wanted to call it. And maybe, just maybe, Sam was enjoying the tenseness he no doubt felt his brother was under, just a little too much.

Sam hadn't told Dean what he'd been up to over the past couple of days when he'd been gone, on and off, had insisted on just being out to get some dinner, do some research, stretch his legs… But he'd been gone too freaking long and too often for that and Dean was suspecting the worst. The worst being, that Sam had gone out, alone, to check if Joe really was dead and gone this time around. Even though, apparently it had worked, since the news were empty of any other report of a disappearance the past couple of days. It was a strange feeling, all of a sudden, to be rid of the responsibility of worrying.

Even though, officially, Dean wasn't supposed to be free of doubt by far. There'd been some others involved, back then, that he still had to worry about, that he had to make sure would keep in line. Dean had thought long and hard about how to tackle that problem, had tried to figure out how to pass on the responsibility of watching over them once he was gone. But, for the moment, he'd come up empty. And somehow that should worry him more than what his brother still had in store for him.

Only, it didn't.

Sam was currently bustling about the room, packing their stuff, shooting Dean dirty glances whenever he offered to help.

The Impala was packed by noon, and Sam made Dean suffer through another change of his bandages, declaring the wounds to heal rather nicely, albeit slowly. Then, he needed to suffer through another meal of something _light_ and _healthy_, as Sam liked to call it, serving him chicken breast and salad, his little brother smiling maliciously while eating, making sick noises of enjoyment all throughout lunch.

Dean would have said something, if he hadn't felt sure that he would only make things much worse for himself in the end.

When they finally left the cabin, the room cleaned and stripped of any sign that they'd ever been there, Dean was a nervous wreck. And for the first time in a long while, it wasn't due to some mind-numbing nightmare tearing him apart from the inside out.

OoOoOoO

They drove in silence for minutes.

Dean was fidgeting in his seat, and it was only in parts due to the fact that sitting was still highly uncomfortable if not outright painful. Sam didn't pay him any attention. Only when Dean hissed in pain as he bumped his shoulder against the passenger side door did he shoot a clearly worried glance towards his older brother, but not breaking the silent-treatment he'd been subjecting Dean to over the past minutes.

Finally, Dean had enough, his pride be damned.

"Sam?"

"Right here." His brother replied, carefully manoeuvering the car around a tricky bend in the road, driving them into town. Dean recognized the parking lot of their old school, had a flash of memory of the Impala being parked there, of him being jumped from behind and dragged into the bowel of a van when trying to walk towards his car.

A scratchy bag over his head, hands wrenched behind his back and tied far too tightly…

He shuddered, quickly averting his gaze.

"Uhm…you mind telling me where exactly we are going?"

Sam smiled, his fingers relaxing a little on the wheel as he steered the car down another street, leaving the main street behind.

"Thought you'd never ask." He said, but remained silent after that.

"Alright…so, I'm asking. Please, little brother, would you be so kind as to tell me where you are taking me? Because if you've got a lady booked for me, I should be prepared…"

Sam grunted and shot a sideways look at Dean, but chose to not grace his brother with an answer still, once again staring intently at the street signs passing by.

"Just another couple of minutes." He mumbled, to no one in particular, and somehow that answer didn't serve to calm Dean down any.

The drove on in oppressing silence for another couple of minutes. Dean had long ago given up to try and keep track of where Sam was going. He just hoped that his little brother hadn't planned anything stupid – or embarrassing – or emotional.

Dean didn't think he'd be able to deal with that.

OoOoOoO

By the time they pulled up on the outskirts of a large park in a better part of the city, Dean was practically bouncing. Internally. He'd be damned if he showed his brother how much this actually got to him.

He had a pretty good idea as to where exactly they were – or why.

And he didn't like it one bit.

"Sam…" he growled, trying to cover up, not too successfully, how fucking _nervous_ he actually felt.

Sam cleared his throat, rotating his upper body while keeping his hands on the wheel in a vice-like grip.

"Ok, listen, here's the deal. You listen – I talk. You hear me out before you get to say anything. You owe me that much. As you mentioned before – you're so far from being off the hook, you can't even see the end of the line, man. I'm still pissed, and you know that I have every right to be. But the only thing I'm asking for is for you to shut up and listen – hear me out. After that, if you're still up to it, you can tell me your side of the story. Alright?"

Dean felt like getting the hell out of the car and simply walking away from his brother right then and there, but he knew that it would be useless. First off, Sam would be able to catch up with him so easily, it would be embarrassing to say the least, and secondly, Sam was right. Dean owed him that. Among other things. And he really hadn't thought he'd get away that easily. Unfortunately.

So Dean just nodded.

Sam seemed to be relieved, relaxing his grip on the wheel and killing the Impala's engine. For some reason, the stillness of his car only served to turn Dean's anxiety up another notch, though. Which was the reason he almost jumped out of his skin when Sam suddenly opened the driver's door, the telltale creak both comforting and ominous at the same time, as he climbed out and walked towards a bench that sat a couple of feet away from the car, shadowed by some large tree.

Dean groaned in protest at the more than cheesy setup, the obviousness of it all – and his inner turmoil at the suspicion of what was going to happen. Only that, of course, he didn't really know what his brother was up to, not really.

Sam was a lost cause when it came to keeping secret. He was jumpy and grinning madly whenever he tried to hold something back from his big brother – always had been, which had been a clear enough indicator that _something_ was on his mind. Birthdays had been the worst, when they'd still been young enough to celebrate them, Sam running around in a excited daze for days, hiding ominous packages in places Dean had to do work hard on being able to overlook.

He'd gotten fractionally more stealthy with time, but not really _that_ much better. Only thing he'd learned was to keep whatever he was cooking up to himself. So, now Dean knew that something was up, only he had no way of knowing what exactly was going to go down.

Damn.

With a sigh and a groan Dean folded himself out of the passenger seat, taking his sweet time to make his way over to the bench – and it was only in parts due to the fact that walking any faster than an old man without his walker was close to impossible still. Sam was patient enough though, sitting there, shoulders hunched forward, facing away from Dean. He waited until Dean had settled himself down on the hard as hell bench and made himself more or less comfortable before finally looking at him again, checking him over.

Before Sam could even ask, Dean shot him a quick smile.

"I'm fine, Sammy. Quit worrying." But he was careful to keep his tone levelled and soft, not wanting to make his situation any worse than it already was. And a pissed off Sam could make it about a hundred times worse still…

"So, what are we looking at?" Dean asked, letting his gaze sweep over the expanse of the big play-area where about a dozen kids ran wild, their mothers sitting around on benches, talking to each other, a couple of them having a toddler or baby in their arms as well.

From this distance, Dean couldn't really make out any faces…

"Bobby told me what he knew…what you told him back then and what he found out through dad." Sam finally broke the silence, and Dean resolved to just sit there, hear the kid out. He sounded worried still, as if he wasn't sure Dean would blame Bobby for telling Sam. Which, clearly, was long forgotten by now, after everything…

Dean shrugged, still mindful of his aching shoulder, the pull of healing stitches across his back. He'd have one hell of a hard time lying on his back for still a while to come.

"Yeah, I know…you guys pretty much rubbed it in my face, remember...?"

"He shouldn't have been the one to tell me, though." Sam said, the hint of an accusation in his voice unmistakable, if somewhat subdued.

Dean sighed, ran a hand over his face in a gesture of tired defeat.

"We've been over that, Sammy. I told you I'm sorry… But back then, I didn't have a choice. It was the only right thing. You were still a kid, Sam…"

"Right, because you were all grown up, being 16 and all…" Sam said quietly, yet his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Dean again could do nothing but shrug.

"You know how it is…was. You were my responsibility, I took that seriously. I didn't want you to know…as I said. You were just starting to have nightmares, would wake up, ready to take down the monster inside your closet or under the bed…I didn't want you to be afraid of the monsters that were roaming in broad daylight on top of everything else. I wanted to keep you away from that for a while longer."

"It wasn't your place to worry about that, Dean."

"Sure it was. You know it was and before you say anything, we really don't need to go through this yet again. It's alright. I didn't do it just because dad asked me to."

Sam eyes flicked over to him, then back out over the playground.

"Yeah, I know. Still…"

"Sam, why are we here?" Dean inquired, quietly, eyes on the ground between his feet, not willing to go into the whole discussion of dad and stupid responsibilities and the unfairness of it all. He was fucking fine with it, why couldn't Sam accept it, too?

"I want you to tell me – about back then. Everything."

Dean shook his head, eyes closed.

The kid couldn't fucking give him a break…

"Sam, no…I told you…"

"No, see, that's the whole point – you didn't tell me. You lied to me. But I wanna know the truth now."

"It's pretty pointless, though, isn't it? I mean, it's all over and done with."

"It's never over, aren't you the one always saying that? Besides, no matter if it's over or not, I wanna know. We're in this together, all of it. Your business is mine, too. I want to help you carry this, Dean, but I can't do it if I don't know the details. So, please, humor me and just tell me. I promise I won't give you hell for it anymore, I do. But I need to know, Dean, I _need_ to know…"

Sam's voice broke off, suspiciously rough, and Dean, though his eyes remained closed, had a pretty decent mental picture of the beaten-puppy look that would be plastered on his face.

And suddenly Dean wasn't so sure they were still talking about his little adventure in the woods here some 13 years ago.

He opened his eyes again, looked over the playground and the playing children, their laughter and giggles, tears and complaints. There was a woman, on the farthest corner of the yard, next to the swing-set, pushing a squealing blonde girl on the swings while balancing a chubby-cheeked toddler on her left hip.

She seemed to be at peace with the world, content in what she was doing…

Sam shifted next to Dean, long fingers twisting and knotting into fists, before he smoothed them out again on his thighs.

Sam needed this.

Great, because, how was Dean going to deny the kid anything, especially now, when he was looking teary and distraught pretty much 24/7? It was in Dean's blood to make Sam happy – or at least to make him as happy as he was going to be, nowadays. It really wasn't all that much to ask…

Dean took a deep breath, steeling himself. He didn't know how this could be so damn hard.

The first sentence was the hardest, the words unwilling to move past his lips, unwilling to break free.

But once he'd breached that first barrier, once he'd pushed past the initial urge to clam up and swallow it all down, it did get easier - surprisingly so. After a minute or two Dean found himself talking, not really thinking about what he was saying anymore, but simply telling Sam whatever he remembered, recounting the hours he'd spent in the dark, in pain, walking through the forest blindfolded, not knowing if the next step might be his last.

He didn't really look at Sam throughout his confession – that would have too much to attempt - but he could see Sam frown out of the corner of his eyes, could see the kids features scrunch up in pain, then set into a mask of hardened determination. For a moment, Dean was worried of what he might have just triggered with his confession, but couldn't make himself stop, now that he'd opened the floodgates, the words just kept pouring out of him, unstoppable.

He did hold some things back – consciously or not - left out some of the more private thoughts and feelings. Some things Sam wouldn't, couldn't understand, ever.

For some things there were just no words…

Didn't look like Sam was having too much fun as it was.

But to his immense surprise Dean discovered that, he himself, wasn't feeling half as bad unloading as he'd thought.

Not that he felt good and comfortable – but it wasn't really all that bad…

Not that Sam would ever find out…

OoOoOoO

Sam was a little shell-shocked by Dean's revelation.

Not that he hadn't counted on making Dean talk, in the end, he'd only thought he'd have to put a lot more force behind it. When Dean first started talking, it was haltingly, like he wasn't quite sure what would come out of his mouth, as if he wasn't entirely sure how much was still stored inside, ready to spill.

Once he'd started going though, there was no stopping him anymore.

The words practically tumbled over each other, took on strength and force, even though Sam could see how painful it still was for his brother to admit to some of the things he was spilling out for Sam to hear. Sam was sure that his brother still held things back, the way his eyes were flicking shut every once in a while, the way he gasped for breath, taking that split second to bite off a word, cut short a sentence that was just starting to form on his tongue. Sam knew and still he didn't call Dean on it, knew better than to press his luck. The way things were going at the moment, Sam couldn't believe they'd ever gotten this far to begin with.

Dean talked, and talked, hands in his lap as he leaned forward and to his right a little, taking some of the pressure off his still tender back. He was staring down during most of his monologue, sparing Sam the sight of those intense green eyes that usually revealed more than Dean was ever willing to share. Sam could do nothing but lean back a little, giving Dean the space he needed, alternating between staring at his brothers back, the strong set of his shoulders and staring at his own hands, rubbing at the rough calluses of his fingers.

Dean's revelations were heart-shattering, giving Sam so much more insight than he'd ever thought possible, than he'd ever hoped for. And it was almost more than Sam thought he could take. As Dean started recounting his trek through the woods, Sam closed his eyes, almost finding himself mesmerized by the tale his brother was telling, found himself sucked into the memories so deeply, it almost made him feel like he himself was living through them firsthand.

Dean had always been good at telling stories. When Sam had still been a kid, the only way to get him to sleep would be Dean telling him a goodnight story, old or new, made up or well-researched. John would give up putting the youngest Winchester to sleep long before Sam ever was able to talk, demanding for his big brother to spin him a tale instead of his father.

It was this talent exactly that now made Sam almost beg Dean to stop now.

He almost felt the shortness of breath, the beginnings of a panic-attack tearing at the walls of his sanity as he found his mouth unable to open, his eyes taped shut, his arms tied and his body ready to break. Yet, Dean had walked on, had fought and succeeded in defeating his own fears and had made it back. Without ever having to ask for it, Sam knew that at least part of what had driven Dean to preserve, had been the simple need to get back to his family – his father and brother, in the end.

It was both the best and the worst feeling, ever.

Sam leant forward, finally giving in to the urge to cover his eyes, to hide his face from the demons he himself had summoned.

Sam didn't know how long he'd sat like this, when he finally realized that Dean had stopped talking. He dragged his palms over his face, dropping them into his lap and blinked up at his big brother reluctantly, not sure what he would see.

Dean still sat very straight, upper body levelled slightly forward and to the right, bracing his elbow on the armrest of the bench. His left arm lay against his side as if shielding the wound Sam knew to be hidden underneath his shirt and Henley, still swathed in layers of gauze. He was looking out over the playground again, that slightly detached look in his eyes that Sam knew was there mostly to shield himself a little from his own revelation, to keep the pain he had to be feeling at bay.

It was only due to the fact that Sam was hunched forward and positioned lower than his brother at the moment that he saw Dean's eyes, saw the thin shimmer of _something_ laying over them. And for once Sam had trouble reading his brother's expression, something he usually had gotten pretty damn good at.

Sam swallowed, hard, unsure of what to say, unsure if he should say anything at all.

He'd known snippets of what Dean had just told him, had known that it had to have been bad from what he remembered his brother looking like back then in the hospital, from the flickers of nightmares that he'd been forced to witness. He'd known that that it had to have been bad for the sheer fact that Dean never before and hardly ever after ever carried his nightmares out in the open like he'd done back then and on occasion after.

Sam had known all that and still he hadn't really expected…_this_.

For once in his life Sam was at a loss for words.

But, as usual, Dean didn't seem to expect him to say anything.

"Dean…I…"

Dean shook his head, cut Sam off.

"Don't, Sam. Just don't. It's OK. It's over…"

In truth, is was so far from over, Sam couldn't even see the end on the horizon, but he didn't find it in him to call Dean on it. Not after the soul-bearing he'd just offered. Sam kept looking at Dean, rolling his lips against his teeth and nibbling at them, trying to find words that he knew would never be right in the end.

"I wish I'd known…" was all he could come up with in the end, and he could have kicked himself the second the words left his mouth.

Strangely enough, Dean just nodded, solemnly, once.

"Yeah…"

Sam hadn't counted on Dean opening up so easily, so now he was a little overwhelmed, totally steered off course as to how to go on. He'd had it all planned out, had gone through every argument, every fight in his head. Now he had trouble finding his course again. And once again Dean caught him off guard as he spoke first, ripping Sam out of his reverie.

"So…that woman at the swing set…is that Janie?"

Sam's head snapped up in surprise at his brother's unusual tender voice, finding Dean still looking out over the playground, still avoiding direct eye-contact. When Sam failed to answer back to him, he cast his eyes towards his brother finally, raising an eyebrow in what no doubt was meant to be a teasing gesture while letting his lashes still cover up most of the moss green lingering there.

"Sam? What? I got something disgusting coming out of my nose?"

Sam shook his head as if physically ridding himself of the cat that had eaten his tongue.

"Uhm…no. I mean…yeah. That's her. Jane Metcalf – over at the swings."

Sam still didn't manage to tear his eyes away from Dean's face, waited until his brother made the decision for him and averted his gaze again.

The swing set was occupied only by the mother and her child, a chubby, year old baby now sitting in a patch of grass to the woman's feet, happily scooping up hands full of dirt to subsequently throw them over his own head.

The woman, Janie, alternated between pushing the about 6 year old on the swing and trying unsuccessfully to stop her baby from covering himself in grime completely. She was laughing while mock-chiding the child and even though from their vantage point on the bench neither brother could understand what she was saying.

"Thought her name was Somers." Dean said, voice low.

"She got married about a year ago – to the father of both children. The older one's a girl, Maria, the little one a boy – Jeff. They have a house, two cars, a dog and a cat – the whole nine yards."

Sam broke off, chewing on his bottom lip but kept his eyes on the woman and her children that was a stranger to him but he'd learned so much about over the course of the past days. He'd tracked her every move, as far as it had been possible, since the Winchesters had left Clancy all those years ago, had made sure there was not even one teeny tiny black spot in her history that would give him any reason to do what he so badly wanted to.

Namely, punish her.

He'd wanted to do it so badly, he'd hardly been able to restrain himself when he'd learned of her identity, had found out her address.

Dean swallowed around an invisible lump in his throat, shifting carefully on the bench. Sam could feel him inching closer – if on purpose or not he couldn't tell - and didn't move as if fearing that any movement would scare his brother off again. Sam could feel the warmth of Dean's body slowly seep into him, feel without seeing that look in his eyes that always scared Sam more than anything. Because Dean hard set and determined, walled off, was a sight Sam was used to. Dean looking like this, worried and unsure…not so much.

At this moment Sam almost regretted bringing him here.

They were silent for so long, Sam thought it would end like this – that Janie would pack her kids and leave and they'd still be sitting here like some peeping-toms spending their days lurking around on playgrounds and in schools.

"So…she pan out OK?"

Dean's voice was just a tad hoarse, but he expertly covered it up with a little sniffle and a low cough.

"Yeah…I couldn't find anything on her. Ever. Like, almost too good to be true. She became a kindergarten teacher, married her first boyfriend, but they split up after two years. She met Ben, her current husband, they had the girl…got married later, then had the boy. She's singing in the church choir, takes care of her grandmother since her mom died about 5 years ago. He's some sort of doctor – a dentist or something. They're doing well, seems like, have a nice house and everything…"

"Picture perfect…" Dean offered and Sam did a half-nod, half-shrug.

"Hard to believe, I know. But I checked and double checked…"

"You talk to her?" Dean asked, and Sam could feel himself tensing up.

How the hell did his brother do that?

"Uhm…I don't…"

Finally, Dean tore his eyes away from the woman and her kids, dropped his gaze to meet Sam's. Sitting like this, Sam once again had trouble seeing his brother's eyes, his lashes dipped low. But there was an unmistakable jump of muscle in his jaw, a pinch of his lips that Sam recognized as Dean knowing he'd caught his little brother red-handed.

"Sam, please. I'm tired. Can't you just tell me what you've been up to the last couple of days and get it over with?"

And he did sound tired, beat. Maybe a little bit defeated. Sam winced but found himself nodding despite his best efforts.

"So…yeah. I talked to her. Went to see her and…I don't know what I wanted to do. I didn't really have a plan or anything. But the next thing I knew I was standing on her doorsteps and she was opening up and there I was…"

"You didn't hit her, did you?" Dean inquired, the smile that quirked his lips upwards at least partly honest, Sam thought.

"Uhm, no, I didn't. Doesn't mean I didn't plan on it – but no. Turned out she's really nice, too, offered me lemonade and cookies…"

"Ahh, always could get you with cookies!" Dean mused.

"Says the guy who basically inhales anything remotely eatable wherever we go."

Dean shrugged.

"You gotta take it where you can get it."

"Right. Anyways…turns out she hasn't quite forgotten about you, either. The minute I mentioned your name she kinda turned so white, I thought she was gonna pass out on me, man."

Dean eyed him from underneath his lashes, Sam could feel it, saw the movement but not the brilliant green he knew to be hidden behind his veil.

"She was terrified, Dean, thought I'd come to…you know… She practically begged me to leave her kids alone, to not hurt them…"

Dean winced, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Sam could see his fingers clenching at his side, the lines on his forehead deepening.

"She thought…she said someone had been there – to warn her – again, after you'd done it when we left town with Bobby. Said he was tall and dark and intimidating…looking a little like me. Guess it had been dad… Anyways, I don't know…but I thought she was genuine, Dean. She swore up and down that she never, ever laid another finger on anyone, made sure that that other friend that was involved back then – Peter - stayed on track, too. I don't know but…I wanted to, you know, make her pay, somehow, but I couldn't. Her kids are amazing, Dean, the baby's like a chubby, giggling monster. He was drooling all over my leg the whole time I was there, smiling and saying _samsamsamsam_. She showed me pictures, Dean, of her and her husband and the kids - of Peter, too. Said he's some kind of vet or something, has his own surgery, doing real well."

"Let me guess – he saves little kittens and helps old, blind people cross the street?" Dean snorted bitterly.

Sam tipped his head thoughtfully.

"Almost… He takes in stray dogs, treats them for free - that kind of thing. Has a godchild in Kenia…big brother program…"

"Now isn't that just perfect."

"Yeah, I know."

"You already slipped on your knuckle rings?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Dean's tone of voice didn't quite suggest if he was serious or not.

For a second, Sam was almost scared. Scared of what Dean would think of him and his willingness to go and punch the woman – and the guy, real hard. Repeatedly. They still weren't past the danger of Sam going dark side, were they? Never past… So maybe he wouldn't mention the fact that he actually had hit Peter…just a punch to the guts, not even very hard…but he had hit him. And maybe he'd gotten in another punch, too – might have broken the guy's nose…

But he'd at least had the decency to regret it afterwards. A little.

Or maybe not.

It was _nothing_ compared to what they'd done to Dean.

As a matter of fact, Sam had found Peter before he'd scouted out Janie, had sneaked up on him in the parking lot of his surgery at night, backed him up against his car. He'd fully intended to go berserk on him, fully willing to ignore his conscience and unleash all that pent up anger and fury on a man he'd never even met before. But after just two punches Sam had folded.

The look of absolute terror on the man's face…

Sam had bailed and ran, hadn't even said a word to the man that had inflicted more pain on his brother than Sam could ever imagine. Peter would probably never know who'd hit him, would never link that totally out of the blue attack to one of the darkest moments of his own life. It still troubled Sam that he hadn't even left a message – a threat…anything. He could always come back for that, could always make sure Peter found out that he was not safe – never would be. Sam could still make sure that Peter could try to be a good person all his life – but that nothing would ever make up for what he'd done…

Sam had only spoken to Janie the day after the incident with Peter, and after that visit he'd been too confused to be ready to admit to what he'd done. And right now – with Dean's reaction the way it was, Sam opted to keep it a secret just a little longer – possibly forever.

"Sam…knuckle rings…you slip them on already?" Dean pressed, again, a little of the humour turned into barely hidden concern now.

Sam wondered when this happened, the shift in their MO…Dean the one willing to hold back while he was the one ready to hit anything that cared to look at him funny. But this wasn't just anybody they were talking about. This guy had almost _killed _Dean, for crying out loud…

"Uhm…yeah, maybe. Kinda. Figuratively speaking…" Sam hedged carefully, hating himself for lying – or bending the truth a little – after everything he'd thrown at his brother for doing just that…

Instead of blowing up in his face, though, Dean suddenly laughed, a mirthless snort, more like it, looking away from Sam and robbing him of the only thing that would have made Sam know for sure of his brother was serious or not – the look in his eyes.

"Great, here I am, wishing you'd finally toughen up so you survive this fucking war without me, trying to think of ways to make you go all Rambo, and all it would have taken is you having to save your weak brother in distress…"

Sam perked up at the sound of both pride and defeat in his brother's voice.

"Dean, that's not…"

"Yeah, whatever, dude."

And with that, Dean pushed himself up and off the bench, a slight groan escaping his pinched lips before he could bite back on it, taking a tentative step away from the bench. He stopped, staring off into the distance for a few seconds before suddenly, abruptly turning around and rounding the bench, making his way back towards the car. Sam was up and after him within a heartbeat. He caught up with his brother next to the passenger side door, blocking Dean's path.

"Dean…"

"Don't, Sam. Just let it rest."

"Yeah, Ok…just…don't you at least wanna go talk to her?"

Sam was confused, he really was. He'd thought Dean would jump on the opportunity to face Janie again, tell her his mind, at least, if nothing else. And it would only be fair to not let her get off as easily – even though, strictly speaking, she hadn't done anything, hadn't really touched Dean the way the others had. But she'd stood by and watched, and in Sam's opinion that was as big a crime as actively participating in the torture.

Dean made a move to open the door, when Sam finally grabbed his brother's biceps, forcefully holding him back.

"Dean, come on. I searched her out, faced her…I brought you here. You can at least…don't you wanna…you want to let her get away with this?" Sam stuttered, confused.

The muscles in Dean's arms twitched and pulled, then rippled as he turned around to face Sam. The younger Winchester immediately let go of his brother's arm when he saw Dean look at his hand on his arm, took a step back as if he'd been burned. Even though the look in Dean's eyes suggested not the disapproval of the rough handling that Sam had anticipated but instead radiated exhaustion more than anything else. Maybe it was this exactly that had Sam take a breath as if he'd stepped straight into a commercial freezer.

"I'm…I don't know…I guess I'm past it. Worked it out, let it go – whatever you want to call it. It's over Sam…what can I say? There are more important things to worry about than some small town punks who happened to have a thing for me over a decade ago… Besides, what am I gonna say to her?"

"I don't know…talk to her, punch her, threaten her… I don't care, Dean. Anything. You need to do something. But you can't just let her get away like this. I told her to come here, told her you were going to meet her. And she came. Maybe you need this, maybe you need to get it all out."

"I already got it all out, Sam. I told you, remember?"

"You should face her, you should…"

"There's nothing I have to say to her, Sam. She knows what she did… And if what you told me is true, she learned from her mistakes. What could I possibly say to her that would make a difference now, huh?"

Sam threw his hands up helplessly, wanting to punch Dean, wanted to shake him, wanted to drag him over to Janie, make him talk. But trying to force Dean to do anything never had went well before, certainly wouldn't sit well with his brother now. And Sam didn't want to fight. He didn't want Dean to close up again, not after the tenuous trust they'd managed to re-establish now…

Didn't mean that Sam wouldn't at least try one last time…

"Maybe you could…I don't know…I thought maybe you could…make peace maybe…" he hedged carefully.

The look in Dean's made him wish he hadn't said anything at all.

"You want me to do what?"

Sam braced himself.

Now that he'd started it…

"I, uhm, thought that maybe…if you didn't…" then he took a breath and let it all out.

"I thought that, if you didn't want – _need_ – revenge, maybe you'd feel better if you forgave her. If you talked to her and told her that…you know…you didn't…"

Yeah, definitely the wrong approach. Sam knew it now – now that it was too late.

"You want me to forgive her?"

Sam shrugged, wanting to disappear. He didn't _want_ that, he just thought that maybe...

"I can't do that, Sam. And you know what? I don't care if that would earn my brownie points in heaven or hell or wherever the fuck else. I don't care of that would make her feel better, either. I'm willing to walk away from it – that's as good as it will get – it's all I can do. But I can't give her absolution. I can't do that."

Sam nodded. He'd figured as much.

"Ok, yeah. I just thought…"

And maybe it was only fair. Maybe it was only fair that Janie would have to live the rest of her life not being granted forgiveness. Yeah, it really sounded only fair.

But Sam had wanted to give his brother something – _anything_. He'd hoped that, maybe, it would bring Dean closure.

"Listen, Sam – I wanna thank you, you know, for all you did – for saving my ass and helping me waste Joe – for burning the whole dam house to the ground… I know I messed up, not telling you, keeping this a secret, but we're both not innocent when it comes to keeping secrets, so I guess I just keep the score even."

Sam felt his head snap back at the accusation, felt the pinch between his eyes intensify and deepen.

"Are we still taking about this anymore?" Sam asked, voice a bit shaky as he waved his hand behind him, in the general direction of the playground, indicating Clancy, Joe and Janie…back then.

Dean's eyes swept past him, settled on some point in the distance.

"I don't know, Sam. Why don't you tell me?" he sighed, but refused to take his eyes off whatever it was he was looking at.

"What…Dean…I don't know… I'm keeping secrets? What… Alright, so I'm trying to find a way to save you, to keep you from going to Hell – _Hell_, Dean, ring any bell? And yeah, I'm doing it in secret because not only won't you move as much as one single finger to save yourself, but you're dead set on keeping me from doing it for you, as well. So please don't tell me you going to reproach me now, of all times, for trying to save your _life_ Dean, not after everything you did for me."

Dean's eyes snapped over to Sam for a second, then swayed back off again. Sam could see the muscle in his jaw jumping once, then again as his brother swallowed, closing his eyes briefly as if summoning the strength he was needed for a simple conversation.

"Listen Sam…I don't exactly know how we managed to switch subjects like that, but if it makes you happy, here it goes: I didn't plan this, alright? None of it. I never wanted to see you unhappy, looking at me day in day out, imagining me rotting in Hell. I didn't plan on a lot of things in my life, but I certainly didn't plan on you dying, Sam. The only plan, ever, was for you to stay alive, on making it – no matter what. So, I might have made so many mistakes, I can't even begin to count them anymore, but I'll never, ever regret making the deal for your life. No matter how fucking scared I am. I'll never regret it Sam. I saved you, gave you back your life – and it gave me one more year with you."

Dean turned challenging eyes on Sam.

"So don't tell me that it wasn't worth it…"

Sam found himself breathless, and he was sure he'd paled about two shades beyond white, but found himself unable to even utter one single word of objection when Dean's eyes suddenly fixed on him with a fierce ferocity that made him blink, hard.

"Sure, I might have counted on ten years, five maybe, if things went bad, but hell…one year is more than I could have ever asked for. It's more than what dad got, right? I won't have you contradict that, Sam, I just won't. I'm fine with it…which doesn't mean that I'm not…it doesn't mean…"

Dean broke off, choking on his own words for a second and again Sam felt like the ground was pulled out from underneath it. He knew the words that were unwilling to pass his brother's lips better than Dean could ever come to know.

_It doesn't mean that I'm not scared. _

He'd admitted to it already, unknowingly, but Sam also knew that it went way beyond anything that he himself could imagine. Sam had never known the details of the deal, hadn't known that Dean had had to practically bargain for the year left – he hadn't known. Because, once again, Dean had not deemed it important enough to tell, had been vague on the details. Like he probably wouldn't have told Sam that he was living on borrowed time in the first place - if he hadn't been forced to.

"I don't regret a thing – to me it was all worth it. And if you can't accept that, I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. Always gonna be. I wish there was a way out of this, Sam, but I won't risk for everything to turn around and bite us in the ass just because you can't freaking listen to me and let it all rest. I can't let you do that. All I want for us is to turn around and get the hell away from here, leave it all behind. It's over now…it is. I finally wanna move on."

Dean took a deep breath, ran a hand over his face in that distinctive manner that always reminded Sam so much of their dad. Dean had copied it for as long as Sam could remember, had made it a constant part of his own repertoire. The motion also managed to break their eye-contact again, and Sam found himself almost relieved when he was given a way out of looking at Dean anymore – just for a little while.

"There is no sense in looking back, Sam…there's no sense in that…"

Sam chewed his bottom lip so hard, he already tasted blood on his tongue. His eyes were burning but he refused to let go and come undone now, here…not when he was supposed to comfort his brother, not after everything Dean had gone through during the past couple of days.

"No looking back…" he mumbled, his voice hoarse, as he watched Dean watch Janie and her kid some more..

"Right."

"But you can't expect me to just sit back and watch you die, Dean." Sam tried again, stubborn set of his jaw almost painful.

"Didn't say I expect you to watch me die, Sam. But I expect you to let me live, as long as I still can."

Sam looked away, fighting back the urge to reply to that.

It made sense. Frighteningly so. And Dean's words hurt even more because of the truth woven into them.

They stood there for minutes it seemed, either unwilling to give in and break the silence hanging heavily between them.

Janie had gotten the kids off the swing and to a bench, handing over little bottles of drinks and some crackers. She left to throw the trash in a dumpster nearby and disappeared behind a tree. Suddenly devoid of their mutual distraction, Dean shifted uneasily, moving to lean a little against the Impala's side.

"So…are we good? Can we go now, because I think I really need to sit down…" Dean said, the lopsided smile that accompanied the request an attempt at make-up, Sam knew, and he felt himself being pulled into his brother's smile far too easily. Even though he didn't want to. Not like that.

"Alright…yeah. Only…one more thing."

Dean barely was able to suppress the roll of his eyes, and Sam was more than thankful that he managed to cut back on the motion at the last minute.

"I can't promise you I won't do anything to help…to try and help you, Dean. You gotta accept that, too. I can't just lean back and do nothing. I promise I'll be careful, not risk…too much. I won't. But you gotta promise me that you won't work against me, won't refuse a way out when I got one figured out. _You_ have to accept _that_, Dean, you have to. You just gotta trust me that I'll handle it, Dean, alright?"

It was grasping for straws, and Sam knew it. He knew that, no matter what Dean would say now, he'd still come up with a reason to manipulate Sam to his liking later on. Once he was feeling better, was more himself again. Right now he was still in pain, was still too shaken by the events to be taken absolutely seriously. But Sam would try and hold him to it, would at least try and make Dean see… Because he had to be scared and he had to want a way out – even though Sam knew he'd never do it if anything suggested harm to his little brother.

"Yeah, alright…I trust you."

The answer threw Sam more than anything else Dean could have said or done. All he could do was nod, then.

"So, we done here, ready to ride into the sunset?" Dean's eyes flickered up to him, slight grin giving his face more colour than it had held in days, if not weeks.

"Yeah, sure. I'll get the horses ready." Sam grinned back, then quickly turned around to rub icy fingers viciously over his eyes, getting rid of any telltale wetness that might have been lurking there. He rounded the car to get to the driver's side, opening the door with the familiar creak and groan, vowing to oil it, Dean be damned, once they got to Bobby's.

He caught Dean's eyes, his brother still standing, leaning a little on the Impala's hood, nodding to him almost imperceptibly. As Sam slipped into his seat, turning over the engine, Dean took a moment longer to get into the car. Sam could see him looking out over the playground once more, watching Janie pack up and turn to leave before, with a quick squeeze of his eyes Dean let himself sink into the Impala's welcoming seat with a soft groan.

No looking back…easier said that done.

The same with letting go.

But Sam would make sure that, one day, they'd be able to look back.

Both of them.

He'd personally make sure of it…

**The end**

_AN:_

_OK, so this is it (famous last words, right?)_

_I guess it wasn't what most of you expected. Probably too emo, too out of character…_

_I just hope it wasn't too disappointing. I know I lost a lot of readers throughout this story…I'm sorry I couldn't do better for you..._

_This was hard for me, and it makes me kinda sad that posting has become so much harder for me instead of better with time. I actually have two stories which are almost completely done already, but for the first time since I started posting here, I'm reluctant to get them out. Maybe this will change once this story is finished and I withdrawal sets in…we'll see. Problem is, I enjoy writing so much… Knowing myself, I give it a week, two at the most, and I'm back, insecurities and self-doubts be damned. If anybody remembers this author's note if I start posting the next story…I'm screwed._

_So, thanks to all those who stuck with me and to those who reviewed and alerted and offered moral support through my continuous breakdowns._

_Just as a reminder - the grammatical errors and mistakes in spelling are due to me not being a native speaker…so I hope they can be forgiven. (I don't even know if I could have done better in my native language…)._

_If we don't hear from each other before December 24__th__ (to those in Germany and Austria…) or December 25__th__- have a wonderful Christmas, if you do celebrate. If not just have a great day nonetheless!_

_As always, I'd like to know what you think, so, consider my fragile mind and let me know, if you find the time!_

_Thanks and take care!!!_


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